Here's Hoping For The Worst
by V the Happy Lurker
Summary: Poor Squee. Just when it seems like he's finally free to become yet another emo teen, Fate decides to make him it's plaything. Throw in a tentacle monster, Johnny's Karamic Crusade, and recurring camos of a certain girl for yet another miserable V fanfic.
1. Prologue

_Welcome to the four-ring circus that is V's first attempt at JTHM fanfiction. Be on the lookout for a narrative told out of sequence, yet more movie rip-offs, Squee-centric plot, and an obsession with a certain director. Be afraid. Be very, very afraid._

**Here's Hoping For the Worst!**

**Prologue: Up A Creek Without A Paddle**

"Is he dead?" asked the vampire again.

"How the fuck should I know?" Jimmy snapped over the blaring music as he scrounged around the motel room. There was a click and a sharp stink of cheap cigarettes.

The vampire said nothing. It walked up to the tub, daintily stepping around the broken glass and rumpled shower curtain.

Todd barely held back a cringe when its icy fingers grazed his neck. Each noise, each smell, each little scrape of sensation hurt like hell but at least he was still alive enough to feel. Not that it amounted to much since he was still sprawled out on his back in the scummy bathtub with another monster leaning over him. Todd had a funny feeling that he'd be better off just letting them both think he hadn't regain consciousness. But no amount of survival instinct could stop the reflexive gagging when the vampire licked a gooey clot of blood off his mouth.

"Well, well," purred the vampire with a cheerful slurp. "I've got good news and bad news…"

Jimmy thumped into the bathroom, sounding disgustingly hopeful. "Good news?"

"I just saved a bunch of money on car insurance by switching to GEICO." There was brittle crack when Jimmy backhanded the vampire. "Fuck!" it hissed, hopping to its feet. "I was just kidding, asshole!"

"Ha ha. Very funny bitch."

"The good news is the boy's alive…barely."

"Lucky him." laughed Jimmy.

"The bad news," continued the vampire stiffly. "This boy's a virgin."

Dumb silence hung in the air. Todd could feel Jimmy staring at him.

"You're not fucking serious."

The vampire made a nasty little growl. "Um…actually, I am."

"But the way this kid's been acting, I thought Johnny was…"

"They weren't." It sounded smug. "One of the very few 'commendable' things about the Beast was that he had restraint in such matters."

"He was too squeamish…" Jimmy leaned closer, chuckling.

"You can't touch him."

Jimmy moved closer. "The fuck I can."

"I don't think you understand me…" the vampire snarled, pulling Jimmy away. "This boy is a VIRGIN." It emphasis the word with a sneer. "What that means is that not only is he…'untouched' by man or woman…or tentacle monster… He's also an INNOCENT."

"Right…"

The vampire sighed. "An Innocent is a mortal who's soul is still pure. In theory, if this boy were to die now, his soul would be clean and he'd go straight UP!" Noticing the dumb look it was getting, the vampire elaborated, "The boy's got the spiritual equivalent of a 'Get out of Jail FREE' card, you dig?"

"Nope." Jimmy barked. "Now fuck off."

"Okay, maybe I was being too subtle." The vampire slammed Jimmy against the wall. "You can't fuck him because we need a sacrifice for the ritual. A VIRGIN sacrifice."

"Aren't you supposed to use girls for that shit?"

It began ranting angrily. "You men are all the same! Always victimizing the woman! Just because she doesn't have the PENIS means that its OKAY to hand over the girl to be raped, mutilated, and otherwise violated by any old Demon or Elder God or Vampire Lord you happen upon! Even though gender is truly inconsequential so long as the sacrifice has an uncorrupted soul and their virtue intact! Do you have any idea how rare it is to find a mortal nowadays whose both a true Innocent and a Virgin? In fact, given _who_ this boy's neighbors were, I'm fucking amazed that he's remained so pure for this long!" The vampire paused, then added sweetly, "Oh, quit looking at me like that. There're plenty of other mortals about for you to have…_fun_ with in the meantime. Why not try the strip club up the road?"

"Hmm…strippers…" Jimmy thought a moment. "Sounds good to me!" He darted out of the bathroom, and then shouted back. "Hey! You wanna coming along?"

"No. I'll stay here…just in case. But you have fun! Bye-bye now!" The vampire waited till the door slammed before adding, "You sick motherfucking…" It muttered a litany of Spanish curses before turning its attention to Todd. "You can quit playing dead, boy. He's gone."

Opening his less swollen eye, Todd glanced up at the vampire as it grinned from its perch on the leaky sink.

"You poor, poor little thing. Looks like you put up quite a fight…and for what? Only to die a most horrible and prolonged death at the hands of a worthless undead rapist piece of shit like Jimmy?" A faint little frown crossed its lips. "You know, despite the fact that I'm pride myself on being the most cold-bloodedly evil of the Master's minions, I can't help but feel sorry for you. So do you know what I'm going to do?" The vampire reached into its jacket and pulled out an obscenely large pistol, which it sat within Todd's reach. "I'm giving you the chance to escape. True, suicide is a mortal sin and offing yourself does doom you to being a civil servant for the rest of eternity, but it sure as hell beats being tentacle raped and have your immortal soul consumed in a freakishly nasty pagan ritual only to be reawaken as the demonic thrall of some fucking hag-bitch _punta_ vampire…" It stopped short. "But it's really your choice, so I'll just give you a minute alone to make up your mind…" The vampire jumped down from its perch and left the bathroom, shutting the door behind it.

"I thought she was never going to leave…" snapped Mr. F as he crawled out of Todd's pocket. "Well, what are you waiting for dumbass? Take the gun and go blow Jimmy's fucking head off!"

"An exercise in futility, my sorry excuse for sibling," D-boy mumbled from within the toilet. "You should take the vampire lady's advice. Suicide is relatively painless…well, maybe not if you choose to commit _seppuku_."

"Fuck you! Are you going to listen to that bullshit? Who's your buddy, man? Remember, I was the guy that told you to kick Jimmy's ass."

D-boy laughed, climbing onto the toilet seat. "Oh yes. I'm sure you remember how well that ended…" The little doughboy jumped over to the rim of the bathtub and sat on the gun. "There are easier ways to kill yourself, you know? Like this nice, large caliber gun we have here. Doesn't it look so friendly right now? Such an easy way out… All you need to do is pick it up, put the barrel all cozy in you mouth like this…" D-boy demonstrated. "Then…"

Suddenly, Mr. F grabbed the ring dangling from D-boy's head and slammed him against the tub. "Don't listen to this tubby bastard! What you need to do is…"

"Where's Shmee?" Todd asked groggily.

"Forget the stupid bear! You don't need his Ragged Ann punk ass anymore! You've got me now, Todd. It's just you and your good buddy Mr. F, two badass mutha'fuckas out to kick some major undead ass! Just like…Uh…like…" Mr. F paused, clawing his hat in deep thought. "Shit! Who's that big chin guy from all those Evil Dead flicks…"

"Bruce Campbell?" a voice intoned from nowhere.

"Yeah! Oh fuck…"

Todd jerked upright. "Shmee? Where are you?"

"Right where you left me, safe and sound in your backpack."

"But if you're there, then how are you talking to me?" Todd rasped, voice tightening with paranoia. "You never did this before. At least, I don't _remember_ you doing stuff like this before…"

Seizing the moment, Mr. F screamed, "Because it isn't Shmee at all! IT'S A TRICK! KILL IT! KILL IT NOW!"

"Be quiet." At that, Mr. F's mouth sealed shut, leaving the doughboy flailing and gesturing obscenely.

D-boy smiled. "Thank you, master."

"Okay," squeaked Todd. "You _definitely_ couldn't do that before."

"It's only me, Squee," whispered Shmee with a chuckle. "Your oldest, most faithful friend Shmee. But the Doughboys have a point, Squee… You need to get out of this terrible place."

"How? There's a vampire sitting in the other room. It'll kill me if I try to escape."

Shmee laughed. "Then kill her first."

Todd picked the gun up and stared at it skeptically. "You want me to shoot her?"

"No." Shmee snarled. "You can't kill a vampire with regular bullets. Traditionally, the weapon of choice is a wooden stake."

"Well that's fucking great!" Todd snapped in a deeper voice. "And just where am I gonna find one? Break the fucking toilet plunger in half?" Struck by inspiration, he realized that it could WORK! Stashing the gun in his waistband, Todd grabbed the foul smelling plunger and, with a quick snap across his knee, transformed it into a pointy implement of anti-vampire weaponry. Stake firmly in hand, Todd moved toward the door.

"Um… Squee? Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Right, the Doughboys…" Going back over to the tub, Todd swept up D-boy and the very pissed off Mr. F. He stuffed them both into his pocket then stalked out of the bathroom.

"What the hell?" the vampire gasped, pulling Shmee out of the backpack it was rifling through. "A teddy bear? What kind of fucked up kid keeps carrying around their damn baby toys?"

The vampire got an answer when Todd rammed the splintered plunger through its heart. He watched impassively as it writhed and howled, its accursed body shriveling into a mummified husk. Then he yanked his bear out of its clenched dead hand. "Let's go home, Shmee."

"Wait!" Crawling out from the pocket, the Doughboys looked pleadingly up at him. "Isn't there something you ought to do first?"

"Yeah!" barked Mr. F, now free to speak again. "Like, ya' know, slaughtering a certain zombie bastard?"

D-boy glared at his twin. "What is with you? All the time, it's 'kill that guy' or 'smash his fucking head in' or 'hey, let's disembowel that dumbass over there'! Your damn hard-on for killing is what started all this shit in first place! If you hadn't encouraged Nny to shoot up that Taco Hell in the first place—"

"Johnny?" Todd croaked. "How do you guys know Johnny?"

"Forget about it, Squee." Mr. F chirped, then sneered at D-boy, "And you can't have a hard-on when you don't have a dick, shithead! Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, you oughta listen to your good pal F and go get yourself some sweet, sweet revenge on Jimmy with a few bullets to his fucking head."

"I think I'd rather just go back to my family…"

"But you can't do that, Squee." Shmee's voice was soft yet dank with evil. "Jimmy killed both your parents…"

Todd laughed bitterly. "Real big loss there…"

"And he killed Johnny."

That stopped Todd dead in his tracks. "He…He might've survived."

"Don't be stupid!" snarled Mr. F. "Even a blind man could've seen the gaping hole in his head!"

"Yes, yes…" D-boy hummed. "Johnny certainly was very, very much dead when you put him in that shallow grave. His body now lies rotting in ground, his cold flesh dissolving in the bellies of the worms as they eat the putrid decay that once was Johnny away into sweet nothing."

Mr. F glared at the other Doughboy. "Are you trying to make me barf?"

"Shut up." Todd growled, shaking all over.

"Squee…" gasped Shmee. "Calm down, Squee. You're…you're going to rip me apart..."

"Huh? Sorry." Relaxing his grip on the bear, Todd sat down on the motel bed. He slumped forward in despair. "What am I going to do, Shmee? I hardly even know where we are let alone how to get out of here. Even if I find a way back home, I don't think I could make it all the way to Jersey on my own. We haven't got any money or food, either. Maybe if Johnny was here…"

"But he's not." Shmee's voice was flat. "You became too dependent upon him, make yourself weak and vulnerable. Johnny abandoned you in your hour of need. So too has the lying spawn of Satan, Pepito. They were never your friends. True friends would never have let these things happen to you. I'm the only one you can put you faith in, Squee. I'm the only real friend you ever had…"

"Hey!" Mr. F barked. "What about us, asshole?"

"Must I silence you _permanently_?" growled Shmee. With Mr. F properly cowed, the bear continued. "Of course you have the Doughboys too, but it was I that gave them as a gift to _you_. Did Johnny ever really help you, Squee? Did he make sure you were taken care of?"

"He…he didn't kill my dad."

"Your father _hated_ you, Squee. Would someone who cared for you let such a hateful man live on to make you miserable?" The bear laughed. "And did you know it was Johnny who brought Jimmy to your neighborhood. Johnny gave that terrible, terrible creature a reason to find his house. Johnny was the one who killed him! He made the monster! This is all Johnny's fault!"

"And now Johnny's dead…" Todd groaned, clutching Shmee close. "I want Johnny back!"

"He's never coming back, Squee. You have to fight alone."

Todd sobbed hysterically. "I can't! I can't fight the _monsters_!"

"But you _can_, Squee. You've already slain a vampire." Shmee seemed to grin. "All you need are the proper tools…"

"Tools?" asked Todd, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He looked down and saw Jimmy's suitcase lying open on the floor, the blades shining in the dim lamplight.

"Take them."

Slowly, Todd stretched out his hand…

"Yes…"

…reaching for a large knife only draw back in horror at the face looking back at him from it's pocked and grimy surface.

"They're unclean…" he whispered darkly. "By even touching them, I'll become a monster too."

"Don't be stupid, Squee! See? Nothing more than steel…" Shmee was almost pleading now. "A knife doesn't make you into a monster! Knives are mere tools! A tool cannot decide how it is used. They're only things!"

"What about you? And the Doughboys? You're only things too, aren't you?" Todd shook the bear violently. "AREN'T YOU?"

The silence was crushing.

"Shmee?"

No reply.

Todd picked up his backpack and shoved Shmee inside then stuffed now lifeless Doughboys back into his pocket. He glanced down at the spilled blades on the floor. Nudging them flat with his foot, Todd couldn't stop looking at the horrific resemblance reflected by all those sharp-mirrored surfaces. There was the same dead eyes which stared hopelessly, the same blue-black hair—messy, exactly like it was when Todd was little—and, underneath the bruises and cuts, that same waxy pallor…

"This can't happen…" he mumbled, lifting the knife for a closer look. Todd closed his eyes and began to laugh. "This can't fucking happen."


	2. Chapter 1: Older

**Chapter 1: Older**

"_I like beautiful melodies telling me terrible things." – Tom Waite  
_

Todd lay in bed, watching the clock tick away each minute in its sickly green digital glow. 5:57 am. He'd been staring at the clock since two that morning. Reaching over, he flicked off the alarm and sat up.

"You should do something about this." Shmee hummed from his spot on the dresser. "Insomnia is sign of mental illness, and I'm sure you don't want to go back to the Defective Head-meats Institute. There are mother's little helpers in the medicine chest…"

Todd didn't respond and pointedly kept from looking at the grinning bear. He stared at the calendar, staring hard at the tiny note scrawled at the bottom of today's date box. It was _that_ day again. Every year since he was little, Todd would put a reminder on every new calendar he got in the childish hope that maybe someone else would remember. No one ever did, and after leaving the Institute it just didn't matter. But he kept on putting a remainder for _that_ day even though it was stupid to look forward to it.

Getting up, Todd wandered over to the closet and blindly grabbed for some clothes. Today looked like another frayed jeans and trashy black shirt day again. He yanked them on quickly before finally turning to the dresser.

"Are we going to say anything to me this morning, Squee? Or are you going to continue this foolishness?"

"You're not real, Shmee" muttered Todd, digging for socks. "You only exist in my head. I made up to keep myself company, an imaginary friend who is the personification of my suppressed desires to lash out against others. There is no you, there is only me."

The teddy bear laughed. "In a way, you are right Squee. I am indeed the product of your mind, birth by your alienation and feed by the darkness within your heart. I protect you from the evil, soaking up all those horrible, terrible feelings to save you from the monsters… Yet there is so much more! Perhaps the therapists have told you wrong, Squee. Maybe there is no _you_, only _me_."

"I'm not in the mood for this right now." Todd grumbled, rutting around deeper in the drawer until he finally found the last pack of cigarettes. He shook it, frowning. "Crap. It's almost empty."

"I don't understand why you bother hiding them. It's not like your parents give a damn. You could have a fucking crackpipe in one hand, a needle in your arm and they'd both wish you would O.D."

Todd glared at the bear. "I know. They don't care, but Johnny does."

"Ah yes… Johnny." He cringed at the vile chuckle of Shmee's voice. "Johnny, the scary neighbor guy. The man who traumatized you night after night after night with those horrific, morbid bedtime stories. He hasn't been around for months, much to our relief, and yet you're worried about him finding out you smoke!"

"Okay. The last thing I need today is to listen to fictional voices in my head bitch at me. So please, be quiet."

There was a sullen silence. Todd smirked in victory and grabbed his backpack. Beyond the door of his father's office, he could faintly hear snoring and knew better than to wake dad up to see if he remembered it was _that_ day. The stairs creaked under foot, slightly muffled by the hypnotic buzz of infomercial hosts describing the latest new gizmo you could get for just 500 monthly payments of $99.99! In the dead glow of the television, Todd made out his mother slumped over the couch with an arrangement of medicine bottles and multicolored pills scattered over the coffee table. Creeping around, he picked up his mother's purse and took out a wrinkled ten-dollar bill.

"Excuse me, young man." Todd froze, staring at his mother staring mildly at him over the couch's back. "Who are you? And why do have my purse? Are you a burglar?"

"No. I'm Todd. You're son," he added dully. Maybe this year…

"I have kids?" his mother purred in dreamy surprise.

Todd slumped, letting out a miserable sigh. "Just me, mom. Just me. Uh, do you mind if I borrow some money? I'm out of cigarettes and there's been nothing to eat in the house since last weekend."

"Oh! Okay." Todd's mother staggered over to him and pressed a massive wad of bills into his hand. She giggled girlishly. "It's not much, I think… Mommy doesn't really need anything for the store, so…uh, Tom? Have a nice day at kindergarden."

"I'm Todd, mom. And I'm in the ninth grade now."

But she wasn't listening anymore. Todd's mother had stumbled back to the couch and fell back into her stoner's trance.

"Thanks…" he sighed to nobody, stuffing the money into his pocket uncounted as he left the house. Todd unchained his bike from the mailbox and wheeled it to the sidewalk. It wasn't that he was afraid his bike would be stolen, since it was 'so last _month_, duce' and patched up with duct-tape and rust. He kept it locked up because lately Pepito, in his ongoing campaign to be Todd's best friend, had taken it upon him demonic self to give Todd a lift to school in his car. Todd didn't dare think about how fifteen year-old could have gotten a license without ever once taking Driver's Ed. In a choice between dodging the early morning delivery trucks or risking life, sanity, and virtue riding with the Antichrist, Todd decided that potentially becoming road-pizza was okay by him.

Pushing his way up the street, Todd paused a moment to stare at #777. The yard was still a barren stretch of dirt with a few clots of bone-dry grass sticking up here and there. 'Stay off yard. It's rude to walk on the dead," read the choppy scrawl across a wooden sign by the stained front walk. Todd doubted the scary neighbor guy was joking about that, considering all the times he'd looked out the window at night and seen Johnny dumping various mangled bits into holes.

Even now, he expected to hear the screams of Johnny's latest victims, but there hadn't been any active in the house since Todd had seen his neighbor lugging an armful of books inside. By chance, not that Todd _wanted_ to know or anything, he'd picked up a book Johnny had dropped and read the title.

"Mindfulness in Plain English, by Bhante Henepola Gunaratana? Why all this stuff on Buddhism?" Todd remember mumbling aloud as he glanced at the back cover before Johnny snapped around and snatched the book away.

"Because I want to achieve Nirvana, the extinction of all want, all emotion, and all suffering," rasped Johnny, eyes glinting madly. "It's deathlessness, which I have but can't enjoy because I still _feel_, Squee! Months of soul-searching and traveling around trying to find meaning to my existence and I was getting nowhere! Then it dawned on me. The Library! Surely I could find answers there! So I've spent the last five days going back and forth, reading every last book on philosophy and religion and all that other existentialist 'meaning of life' bullshit trying to figure out why I'm me. And all I got out of it were fucking paper cuts! Paper cuts, Squee!" He waved his bandaged fingers under Todd's nose. "And then I _found _it! In the stupid EyeWitless: Chinese Religion! BUDDHISM! FUCKING NIRVANA! The core goal is to achieve enlightenment that the emotions and desires are meaningless and only make us suffer! To get there, you have to get over the false idea of self, which causes among other things craving, conciousness, birth, death, greed, hate, delusion, ignorance… All the asshole crap that the media crackheads tell us is a good thing! It's FREEDOM, Squee! It's found out the abso-fucking-lute truth! And, after I'm find out how that weirdly jolly Asian fat man did it, I'll get free of all my crazy!"

Todd smiled weakly. "That's…that's good to hear, Johnny. Hope that works out for you."

Grinning psychotically, Johnny bounded into his house gibbering about unbecoming himself.

And now, seven months later, Todd still hadn't seen Johnny leave the house. Maybe his neighbor really had achieved Nirvana and was peacefully enjoying his enlightenment in seclusion. Then again, this was _Johnny_… He probably snapped and went off to India or China or where it was Buddha lives to hack the jolly fat monk up with a cleaver. But Todd had the sneaking suspicion that Johnny was still there. What made that feeling even weirder was the house itself. It seemed to be _waiting_ for something… The air was like that tensed moment between inhaling and exhaling a breath, the anticipation of something about the _burst_…

"What if the monster's escaped again, Squee?" murmured Shmee, smiling darkly from over Todd's shoulder.

That shook Todd from his musing. "I thought I left you at home."

"You need me." The bear growled nicely. "Especially if Johnny's little problem had gotten loose. I suppose you remember what happened _last_ time…"

"Yes. But Tess is doing okay now." He paused, getting on his bike. "Well, at least she's not huddled up in the closet gibbering anymore…"

The bear just laughed then lapsed into silence.

By the time Mister Zimmerfield the Janitor unlocked the doors, Todd had smoked two packs of Red Apples and finished another story. He sat on the 'P.S. 2112' sign, watching his classmates wander toward the high school with their looks of teen angst and overpriced Goth-punk-emo wardrobes bought from the trendiest stores in the mall. The pretty hate parade wheeled its way past him without so much as a glance or care. It all made Todd wonder why he didn't just drop out and home school himself.

At five till, a menacing black '69 Camaro came roaring up the street and squealed to a nerve-shattering stop in front of the school. Todd cringed a little when Pepito got out and made straight for him.

"Where have you been, Squee?" he began, looking a bit hurt. "You could at least wait on me for once."

"I…uh, had some errands to run."

The Anti-Christ glared. "You run errands at six in the morning?"

Todd nodded stupidly, then squeaked in terror as Pepito dragged him into school. It must've been amusing for their classmates to see the ungodly spawn of Satan easily cow Todd who had the misfortune of being not only the skinniest kid in school but also the tallest. The humor factor went up even more because Pepito barely came up to Todd's chest…in heels. Six-inch combat boot heels, to be precise. And the whole time, Pepito grumbled and ranted about courtesy and the value of friendship and why did the hallways always smell like rancid cheese?

"Do you have any idea how long I waited on you this morning?" snapped the Antichrist, coming to a halt in front of locker 666. He let go of Squee and, wrenching open the locker, started grabbing his books. "Nearly two hours, Squee! Two fucking hours that could've been spent with Ms. Honey improving both our GPAs, if you get my drift. I was worried shitless about you, thinking you'd gotten some fucked plague or some shit! And when I went in to make sure those soulless pigs hadn't left you to die in a corner of the basement…" Pepito turned to Todd, fixing him with a uniquely hellish glare. "Squee, if I **_ever_** have to deal with that snide rat-bastard of a mortal which sired you again, I'm going to…"

"Don't you hurt my dad!" Todd yelped. "I'm sure he wasn't trying to be mean. It's just that he has to work all the time because I wasn't crazy enough to stay forever in that awful mental institution. I guess it's my fault that dad's cranky all the time and mom's always taking pills…"

Pepito stared at him, watching Todd wring the straps of his backpack in his hands. "Squee, I hate to say this since you're my friend and it's just not my place to, but your dad's going to hell. And his miserable existence was never your fault because the man was an apathetic little shit decades before he got your wretched mother knocked up. And the only reason they've stayed married this long is because of that fucking Catholic dogma that it's a sign to get divorced."

"I'm Catholic?" muttered Todd, trying to grasp the concept. All his life, he could never recall a single moment when his family had shown any sign of religious leanings though he did remember being terrified of penguins since he was a baby. Slowly, he repeated, "I'm Catholic?"

"Yes. You are." With a comforting pat on the shoulder, Pepito sighed, "You have my condolences, Squee."

"And that's a bad thing?" asked a friendly little voice at Todd's elbow. He looked down at the equally friendly little caramelly face smiling up at him. "Hi, my name's Rufus Sloane. Nice to met you, Squee."

"It's Todd, actually. Todd Casil." He shook the hand Rufus offered, unaware of the utter horror and rage flashing across Pepito's face. "It's nice to met you too, I guess." He paused awkwardly, then said, "I'm not really good at this sort of thing. People usually either forget I exist or they're all sick evil people or are trying to do horrible things to me…"

"I dunno why." Rufus replied. "You seem like a really nice person. A bit geeky and weird, but that's nothing to be ashamed of. My whole family's kind weird, especially Dad with His warped sense of humor... I mean, just look at the platypus! Now if that's not a sign He's gets the joke, I don't know what is. By the way, who's your friend with the mohawk and horns?"

"Oh, that's Pepito. He's my stalk—er…my next door neighbor. He's the Antichrist."

"Well, it's nice to finally met you." Rufus chirped, waving sweetly.

Surging forward, Pepito grabbed Todd by the neck and put him a headlock. "Stay away from him, filthy son of light! This mortal belongs to me! You shall not draft him into the army of God with false hopes of friendship and holy goodness! YOUR JEDI MIND TRICKS WILL NOT WORK HERE!"

"Umm…maybe you should loosen you grip there. He's turning blue."

"Eh? Oh crap." Releasing his grip, Pepito gave his half-strangled friend a weak smile. "Sorry about that."

Todd was to busy gulping sweet, delicious, life-sustaining air to notice the apology. Reaching down, Rufus helped Pepito get him to his feet.

"You okay?" asked both Pepito and Rufus in unison.

Todd nodded lamely, pulling away from them.

"Well, you look like you'll live. Sorry to run, but I've gotta get my homeroom assignment and schedule. See you guys later," hummed Rufus, strolling off down the hall.

"So Rufus' is new here. Well, that's explains alot. Seems nice," Todd murmured, walking toward his locker.

"Nice? **_NICE_**!" rasped Pepito as he jogged alongside him. "Do you know who the fuck he is?"

"She." Todd corrected, wrestling with the bolt on his rusty locker door. "Rufus is a girl. I thought you of all people would've noticed the huge boobs. "

"Wait. The Second Coming's a _girl_?"

Todd shot him a nasty look. "And why not? I mean, it's a bit stupid to think that God's an asshole chauvinist pig. I mean, for all we know, God could be a She. Besides, who says Rufus is the Second Coming? Maybe she's just a nice person. Why does it have to be that the only people that like me always have to end up being psychos or the spawn of demons? Can't you just accept the fact that for once a normal, decent person finally accepts me as a fellow human being!"

"You naiveté is showing again, my friend." Pepito answered with a snarl. "Surely you did catch that she talked about her Father with a capital "F". And, if I'm not mistaken, she was quick to acknowledge me as Antichrist."

"You mean the horns and the fact '666' ends up in every number sequence assigned to you wasn't a give-away? Maybe her family's religious."

Pepito laughed. "Well, I suppose being the great, great, great, great, great, GREAT grand-niece of Jesus-fucking-Christ does make for a very religious upbringing indeed."

Slamming his locker shut, Todd rounded on him. "You know what? I honestly don't feel like dealing with your militant 'join the Dark side' bullshit right now. So fuck off."

He stormed off, leaving Pepito standing there blank faced in shock. Then Shmee decided to speak up.

"That was unexpectedly brutal, my boy," hummed the bear. "Usually, your too scared of being turned into a revolting pile of slug parts to even think of telling him off. I'm proud of you."

"Don't be." Todd mumbled. "There's nothing for me to be proud of."

"You're simply upset that nobody remembers it's your birthday."

Pulling Shmee out, Todd screamed "SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT MY BIRTHDAY, YOU LINTY BASTARD!"

Everyone stopped their inane pre-class chattering to stare at the crazy boy shaking a ratty teddy bear. Todd felt blood flushing his rather sickly pale face as he quietly slinked to his desk in the very back of the room and frantically wished that he could become invisible right now.

"Today's your birthday?" Pepito asked, settling into the desk in front of Todd's.

Todd put his arms over his head and tried burrowing into the plywood with his nose.

"Squee…"

"So what?" he muttered, not looking up at the devilish face looking at him. " Why should I care that it's my birthday? It's not like anyone else gives a shit…"

"I do."

Todd glared at Pepito. "Gee, thanks. It makes me feel so much better knowing that Satan's crotch-drippings cares that I'm fifteen. Makes today really fucking special for me."

The smack resounded through the classroom.

"Sorry, but it was for your own good," apologized the Antichrist, helping Todd back into his seat. "These mood swings are starting to get on my nerves."

"What mood swings? I don't have mood swings." Todd sniffed, rubbing the bruised side of his head.

"There! You're doing it right now!" Pepito pointed a finger at him. "One minute, you're the Old Squee, all scared and squeaky and cute and innocent…and then, BAM! You go off on a psychotic rant! I've never seen you get so malicious, so sadistic, so _evil_… It's fucking disturbing. Yet evil does look good on you Squee. _Really_ good…"

Looking away from that demonic leer, Todd happened to see that the new kid Rufus had walked in and was heading for the empty desk to his right. His relieved smile betrayed him.

"What are you grinning…"

"Hellos again!" Rufus chirped, setting down with that pleasant permagrin on her face. "Seems like we've got homeroom together. Funny coincidence, huh?"

"_Damn you, damn you, damn you_…" was all Pepito growled before turning away.

Todd only laughed and quickly started chatting with Rufus. By the end of homeroom, they were acting like old buddies (much to the disgust of a certain unholy half-fiend). It turned out that not only did Rufus have the same class schedule as Todd, but was also Catholic and actually turned out to be one of those rare people who actually was a decent human being. The only fault he could find in her was the fact that she kept trying to get Pepito do more than curse her attempts at friendliness, but then again it was awfully good of her to try. He spent whole day talking with Rufus about anything and everything, absolutely enraptured by the idea that there was good in the world after all.

When the last bell rang, Todd was happy to exchange numbers with Rufus before breaking away from her to find his bike and go home. He didn't see Pepito waiting for him until it was too late… Within seconds, Todd found himself strapped in the passenger seat of the Camaro with a fuming Antichrist driving at a stomach-churning pace. They finally came to a tire screeching halt at the International House Of Eating 24-7 and before Todd could protest or escape, he was dragged inside and shoved into a conveniently secluded booth.

Once the waitress had left, Pepito light a cigar and started puffing away as he talked. "Alright, Squee. This game of spiting me has gone far enough."

"What are you talking about?" Squee asked. He nervously fiddled with a cigarette.

"We've known each other since kindergarden! Kindergarden!" snapped the Antichrist in a huff of smoke. "This is the first time I have ever seen you give so freely of yourself to another person. You barely know that girl and yet you've told her things today that you always kept from me. You have told her of you dreams, your fears, you ambitions… And never have you been as open with me as you have with this _Rufus_. You've shared more feelings and love with her in a mere day than you shared with me in ten years." Pepito looked on the verge of tears. "Why must you deny me this, Squee? **_Why?_**"

For a moment, Todd couldn't speak. Then words began to bubble up on his tongue and, unable to stop them, Todd found his lips giving those words shape. They flowed out his mouth in a quiet torrent of hate. "Why? I'll tell you **_why_**: Because you're a fucking monster, Pepito. Since I met you, I've spent my life in utter fear of what you might do to me if I ever pissed you off. You're yet another nightmarish thing in my shitty existence to plague my waking days with your disgusting evil and your leers and you fucked up innuendos. It sickens me." Todd got to his feet and snarled over his shoulder as he began walking out of the restaurant. "I want never to see you again, Pepito."

* * *

The clock read two o'clock. Todd rolled over and pulled the blankets over his head.

"Still not asleep?" asked Shmee, looking down from the wall Todd had stabbed him to. "It's been almost two months…"

"Be quiet," came the hiss as Todd jerked the blankets around himself tighter. "Or I'm putting you in the garbage disposal."

"More threats…" Shmee chuckled. "I'm sure you have notice that you're getting worse, Squee. Day by day, hour-by-hour, a sickness grows within you. It makes you want to hurt, to _kill_. Even Rufus is beginning to see the corruption inside you."

Looking out from underneath the blankets, Todd glared at the bear. "Shut up."

"And Pepito knew you were sick long before you realized it." The bear rattled on. "That's why drove him away. He saw the sickness and wanted to use it to make you his slave. But Rufus doesn't want sick servants. Once she realizes what you're becoming, she will destroy you. None of them want to save you, Squee. Only I can help you now. Trust in me again, boy, and I can bring you a cure to your sickness. All you need to do is give in…just give in…"

"FUCK YOU!" Todd jumped out of bed, still dressed, and stormed out of the room. Downstairs, the front door slammed.

"Nice going, fuzzy," sneered a part of the darkness. "At this rate, I'm never going to be free."

"Patience, my doughy friend." Shmee murmured soothingly. "He'll break soon enough. And then you both shall have form again."

From another part of darkness a second voice grumped, "But master, I _like_ oblivion."

"Hush." At that, the house fell into ominous silence.

* * *

Over and over again, the latest poet kept groaning about the pits of misery he was soaking in, the delicious taste of funeral delights, or some other Goth shit like that but Todd wasn't paying attention. Carpe Jugular's open-mike night might be an annoying gimmick, but this was the only bar open this late Todd knew of that wouldn't card him. And given the week he'd been having, getting shit-faced seemed like a wonderful escape.

'Maybe I'll get drunk enough to read some of my stuff tonight…' Todd snickered at the idea of all these self-proclaimed jaded hedonists vomiting from the vileness of his writings. Then again, after listen to the garbage loser like Gwish and her cronies spewed into the microphone, this black clad jackass were probably nausea proofed. He lifted his beer only to find that it was empty. Disappointment hit him like an ice cream cone hitting the sidewalk. "Damn it."

Suddenly, a bottle of whiskey and two glasses materialized in front of him. Todd stared at the bottle in amazement.

"Go ahead. Have a drink on me."

Turning slowly, Todd found himself face to face with a slightly worn-out Antichrist. "It's poisoned, isn't it?"

"Don't be stupid." Pepito snapped, setting down beside him. He poured them each a shot and shoved one into Todd's hand. "Just act like you don't loathe me for five minutes, okay?"

Todd sighed, downing the whiskey in a gulp. "Um, do you mind telling me why you're here?"

"Because I couldn't find enough lemons and salt to rub in my wounds."

"I'm sorry."

Pepito slammed his glass on the bar. "Sorry? This is the first time you've actually spoken to me in weeks with screaming and all you can manage is a lame little 'sorry'?"

"At least I'm trying!" Todd snapped back. "It's not like I'm the one in the wrong here! You went bunny-boiling crazy just because Rufus is a friend of mine. And let's not forget you're little bitch fest about me going to church."

"Fuck God! He's never been there for you like I have."

Todd started to reply, then shook his head and poured himself another shot. "No. I'm not getting into this argument with you again." He downed it. "You won't listen, no matter what the hell I say. So, let us both shut up and just sit here drinking ourselves stupid."

"Fine," agreed Pepito, refilling both their glasses. "Let's do just that."

And so they sat at the bar, drinking themselves into stupidity as another poet bleated on about the magnificence of her last boyfriend's suicide and how beautifully cruel he was for leaving her behind with the delights of suffering. Suddenly, both Todd and Pepito began to laugh.

"Damn! Doesn't she know what happens to suicides in the afterlife?" giggled Pepito. "Sweetie, being a civil servant for all of eternity is nothing to glorify!"

"And what the fuck is with this 'drawing the razor _across_ his wrist'? Don't any of you kids do the fucking research anymore?" Todd barked and, leaping up on stage, demonstrated the proper way to slit one's wrists. "See? You've gotta take the blade _up_ the forearm to open that vein up right! Otherwise you'll be lying there for _hours_ waiting to die." He jerked the mike away from the girl, feeling a rant coming on. "You fuckers don't have any idea what it's like to really _want_ to die, do you? All you pampered shitsacks care about is how cool you look in that brand new corset and finding new ways to bitch about being so misunderstood when you treat other like shit. You poser bastards use the Goth subculture as an excuse to alienate and ridicule others to bolster your own lack of self-esteem. Misery and suffering aren't things to be celebrated, you holes: They are a reminder that life sucks balls. Life makes you want to die. And there's nothing beautiful about wanting death, fucktards! Suicide is a cry for help! It's the drastic attempt to make human contact which pretentious motherfuckers like you deny others. So you all can go fuck yourselves."

Throwing down the mike, Todd jumped off the stage after giving the stunned crowd the finger. He felt himself shaking and sweating feverishly as he scrapped the horse-laughing Antichrist off the floor. "Come on Pepito, let's get out of here before I end up killing people."

"Aw…but it's just getting fun!" he pouted with a snicker then saw the look on Todd's face.

"Let's go. **_Now._**" Todd carried the smaller boy out of Carpe Jugular. As they staggered down the street, he kept wondering what possessed him to get up in front of all those idiots in the first. Was he that drunk? Was it because Pepito thought it funny? Wait. When did he start caring what the devil-boy thought of him? And why the hell did he suddenly want to find a out-of-the-way spot and tear off Pepito's clothes with his teeth?

"Uh, Squee?"

Todd put that disturbing image out his mind for a second. "Yeah?"

"You can put me down now."

"Sorry!" He let Pepito down, but kept an arm about his waist.

Pepito gave him a strange look. "Squee, why are you still touching my ass?"

"I'm not touching your ass!" Todd shrieked. Then he noticed where his hand was resting. "Okay, maybe I am! But it's not like…I mean… oh shit."

There was a nasty, smug grin on Pepito's face. "I can't say I'm not enjoying this turn of events, but it's probably because we're both shitfaced so I won't throw you up against that wall and fuck your brains out. Not that I don't want to. It's just that I want you to know I think you fuckable sober."

"Right…" Nodding sleepily, Todd took a step back. "You want to walk home with me? I don't think I'd like to pass out in the gutters around here. The hoboes might eat me."

"Sure." As they stumbled toward the 'burbs, Pepito turned to Todd. "I take it we're friends again?"

"I guess so." Todd muttered, then hugged the Antichrist. "You still scare the shit out of me, though…"

They both started laughing at that, ignoring the irate screams of their neighbors and the barking of dogs in fenced-in yards.

----


	3. Chapter 2: Mild Head Trauma

**Chapter 2: Some Mild Head Trauma**

"I write because I hate. A lot. Hard." William Gass 

"Bela Lugosi."

"Uh?" Grunting out of a deep sleep, Pepito sat up and glared at his friend. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"The answer is 'Bela Lugosi'," repeated Todd with a flick at the show on TV. "It's one of those gimmicky 'Who-Wants-To-Win-Billions-Without-Eating-Bugs' game shows, and this week they're running horror themed questions. See, they give the contestant of the day a multiple choice question before each commercial break, with the studio audience and the home audience online being polled for an answer. The contestant then decides if they want to go along with the audience or pick for themselves. If the contestant's right, they earn some money but if the audience was right and the contestant disagreed, the contestant is electrocuted. The shocks get progressively worse the higher the pay out gets."

Pepito grinned. "How charming. I think my father has a few deals with the producers of this show."

"Yeah, I sorta guessed that the third time I watched this episode."

"Third time?" The grin vanished. "You mean it's a rerun?"

"Yep. But considering the answers they gave for the last question, a blind retarded cave weasel could see that this game's rigged to fry this ugly smart-ass." Rolling his eyes, Todd growled, "I mean, Bruce Campbell was one of the choices for a question about White Zombie! Boris Karloff and Peter Lorre, I can understand. But Bruce-Fucking-Campbell, B-movie Lord of the Chin? He wasn't even a fucking zygote in 1932! Besides, any moron who knows the genre could tell you Bela Lugosi was the man who played Murder Legendre, the villainous white Voodoo witch-doctor."

"Um, first off: White Zombie happens to be the name of a band, darling. And second: Bela Lugosi played Dracula."

Todd let out a contemptuous little snort. "Bah! For your information, my demonic friend, the band White Zombie derives its name from the original, black and white film of the same name because Rob Zombie happens to be a B-movie fanatic. I believe he bought that car from the Munsters, for Christ—eh…" He paused at the look of disgusted rage on Pepito face. "Sorry, forgot. Anyway, as far as Lugosi is concerned, it's true he is best known for his role as Universal's original Dracula, but the real tragedy is how pop culture has forgotten the many _other_ roles Lugosi played. Like his classic performance as Igor in Son of Frankenstein—a critical success in the eyes of many aficionados, despite the fact that it was supporting role—or his many appearances as the evil mastermind, such as the mad horticulturist of The Body Vanishes or the murderous scientist in The Bat. Even though he's famous for **_being_** Dracula, Lugosi only played the role of the bloodthirsty count one other time, and that was in Universal's Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein. In fact, he spent most of his life after Dracula trying hard to escape the stereotype of being the Count. By that point in his life, Lugosi's career had gone down the proverbial toilet and in 1955 he made Hollywood history by announcing that he was going to rehab for an addiction to painkillers. This was also the year he began working with the infamous director Ed Wood, appearing in Bride of the Monster. Lugosi's final film was the cult classic Plan 9 from Outer Space, but because he died in the middle of production a stand-in played bulk of Lugosi's role with a cape held up over his face. In an ultimate irony, Bela Lugosi was buried in his Dracula cape."

Arching an eyebrow, the Antichrist gave him the special kind of look people reserve for the likes of Happy Noodle Boy and the local Obsessed Comic-book Guy.

"What?" gulped Todd, going on the defensive as he squirmed into the couch. "I…I happen to like old B-movies."

"You, Squee, are the absolute last person—mortal or otherwise—in existence that I would think of watching a horror movie, let alone being a rabid fanboy." Pepito was grinning again. "But I do admit, your geekiness is very attractive…"

"Um, thanks?" Rearing back, Todd smiled in an odd bitter way. "Compared to a '_normal'_ day in my life, A Nightmare on Elm Street is a fucking Disney animated family feature. Between Johnny torturing his latest victims to the left of me and your hellish family living to the right, I am utterly stunned that I haven't been permanently locked up in some crazy house for boys—though, I'm honestly expecting the White Coats to pick me up any day now. So please, forgive me this trespass and let me enjoy watching some other schmuck being tortured by monsters. I've seen The Omen, Children of the Corn, and The Exorcist. Oh, and for the record, I've also got the boxsets of _Buffy_, _Angel_, most of _Dark Shadows_, all the Evil Dead movies, plus everything by George Romero, Ted Raimi, and Clive Barker."

Pepito laughed. "You are such a nerd, Squee. The only way you could possibly be more of a geek is if you did those freakish little fan stories or drew fan art."

"Well…"

Pepito's eyes widened in surprise. "Are you fucking serious?"

"No because he's been dead since Book 5. Anyway, Remus would be so _pissed_…" Todd giggled. "Heh-heh…nerd humor. But, yeah, I do write stories for a couple of fandoms. Its some really bad slash—mainly Re-Animator and a few animes—and a bunch of Willow/Tara fluff. Lately, though, all I've been writing turns into gore splattered, angst filled teenage revenge melodramatics."

"Squee-gee how can anything with cute lesbian witches be bad?"

Todd laughed, sinking even deeper into the cushions. "You'd be surprised at how much badfic exists. And quit calling me 'Squee-gee'."

"Uh-huh," came the half-assed reply, then Pepito's grin widened. "Can I read some?"

Now Todd had sunk so far into the couch that he was practically one with the upholstery. "I'd rather spare you the misery…"

Fixing him with the sweetest of smiles, the Anti-Christ moved till he was barely inches from Todd's face. "My dear boy, your talking nerdy and acting shyer than a Victorian virgin on her wedding night has really peaked my more carnal interests, yet I'm even more interested in satisfying my curiosity about these 'fan-fics' you write. In plain English: If you don't quit holding out on me, I'm going to turn you into a fucking lemur."

"Which kind? The furry, Madagascar kind or the pathetically damned souls of Hell kind?"

"Both."

Prompted by the desire not to be an eternally damned primate, Todd hopped up and groped around for his backpack. When he couldn't find it by the couch, he started walking around, checking and double-checking every square inch of the living room. He scoured the floor, wracking his hung over brains to remember where he could possibly have tossed it when he came stumbling in with Pepito. Then Todd realized that he'd left his backpack at Carpe Jugular after they'd fled. He'd been in such a drunken panic over his uncharacteristically rage-fueled outburst that he hadn't even noticed it missing till this very moment.

"What's the matter?" asked Pepito, suddenly standing right behind Todd.

Squealing, Todd nearly put a hole in the ceiling. "Ow! Shit! Warn me next time."

"Sorry. Now, tell me what's wrong? You look like somebody ran over your puppy…" At the mention of puppies, the Anti-Christ's face darkened. "Fucking bastard…"

Todd could only flinch, recalling how during their fourth grade year some dickhead in a Benz ran over Pepito's dog. He could still the guy's screaming… Trying to block out that memory, Todd murmured, "I left my backpack at the bar."

Slipping out of psycho mode, Pepito gave him a sour look of annoyance. "Is that it? Just your _backpack_? Shit, Squee, I thought it was something important from the look on your face!"

"All my notebooks are in it. And I asked you to stop calling me 'Squee'?"

"Why not? It's just a name."

Glaring, Todd shot back at the Anti-Christ, "It's also fucking annoying. It's the kind of nickname you give a four-year old. Besides, 'Squee' isn't even a fucking name! It's just an onomatopoetic term for the noise fan girls make when they've just gotten an author to confirm that their favorite slash couple is indeed a couple in the canon! I refuse to spend the rest of my life being called the same word that describes a fucking nerd-gasm!"

With an impish grin, Pepito replied, "Nerd-gasm… Now **_that's_** more than enough reason to continue calling you 'Squee'. And you don't know just how amusing it can be watching you try to distance yourself from the way you once were. So please, quit bitching and let us be going before we're late for school, **_Squee-gee_**."

"I'm not going."

Pepito rolled his eyes. "Damn it! It's a stupid nickname. Deal."

"That's not it." Todd muttered, plopping onto the couch.

"Oh sweet unholy fuck… If it's about the backpack, we can pick the damn thing up on our way…"

"You don't understand," whispered Todd as he slumped forward with his fingers steepled. "This goes beyond simple being known for the rest of my life as 'Squee' or even my precious backpack—though that's still pretty damn important. Since we got back last night, I've felt the weight of impending doom hanging over me. I hoped that watching the Atomic Late-Night Monster-fest with your oh-so-pleasant running commentaries would make this feeling of unutterable dread disappear, but you fell asleep in the middle of Godzilla vs. the Moon Beast. So I sat here, watching horribly dubbed actors fighting rubber suit-wearing guys who blundered through obviously fake miniatures of Cold War Tokyo while you were curled up snoring in my lap. Might I add that you're actually adorable when you're sleeping… By the way, did you know you grind your teeth in your sleep? But I digress.

"After Monster-fest ended, I flipped through the channels for a good two hours. One of the few benefits of insomnia is that you get to discover MTV does play blocks of music videos that aren't rap-hip-hop-pop-idol shit…at about 3 in the fucking morning. Sadly, catching a Tool video was only a temporary relief from this despair festering in my mind. It flared up again and it seemed as if _things_ were watching me from the shadows. They and their half-whispered _plotting_ filled me with such unnamable imaginings of misfortune and misery that all I wanted to do was kill myself and plunge into the relieving vacuum of oblivion." Todd frowned in disgust. "Fuck. I'm starting to sound like one of those Goth poets…"

"Don't worry about it," murmured Pepito. "I do apologize for being too lax with the demons and other Hellspawn lurking around the house. I'll have a word with them about tormenting my guests…"

Todd sat bolt upright. "It wasn't a demon! This thing- no! Those things…yes, _things_ because I swear there's at least two of them-These things are something else entirely. I…I can't quite explain what they are, why they picked me, or even if they're on the same side anymore, but I can tell you that they aren't exactly evil, just **_malicious_**. And _ruthless_…"

"You mean like that _bear_ of yours…" growled Pepito.

"That's one way to put it…" Todd mumbled. For the thousandth time, he regretted ever telling Pepito the truth about Shmee.

Expression dark and possessive, the Anti-Christ glared down at the boy. "I do hope you let these new '_friends_' of yours know that you- physically, spiritually, intellectually, and sexually- are mine and mine **alone**. I will share you with no other, Todd."

"I'm truly touched. Now, please excuse my presumptive rudeness, but would you kindly fuck off? I wish to wallow alone in my miserable existence stew."

"Enough of your angst! It tires me. You can be miserable at school." Grabbing his arms, Pepito dragged Todd off the couch and into the car.

Todd placidly let the Anti-Christ lead him through the hallway when they got to school, indifferent to the staring and whispering from his peers. What did it matter? Let them think that he was gay; give the jocks a better justification for beating him again. The whispering continued through homeroom—Rufus kept trying to say something to him, but Todd was just too depressed to care—and the not-quite hushed gossip kept right on till lunch. By that point, Pepito had hexed, cursed, and otherwise maimed at least seven people on Todd's behalf, and the only reason Todd even noticed was because Rufus had helped the last two times.

And now they were on 'victim' # 8.

"Alright, you putrescent sack of vermin shit," hissed Pepito as he tightened his grip on the miserable misanthrope's arms. "What did I just get through telling you? _That_," He twisted the girl's—Todd guessed it _maybe_ a girl—twisted _its_ head toward him. "That boy right there… He belongs to _me_."

"In a strictly platonic sense!" Rufus added. "Not in the 'I-own-his-eternal-soul' kind of way."

"I'm working on it." Pepito snapped back, then smiled at the girl. "Now, because I weary of dealing with you filthy maggots and I'm running out of amusing ways to torment you for the rest of your soon to be drastically shortened life, I shall make you the messenger of a warning. You are to go back to all your clove-smoking, redundantly pierced, kohl made-up clown friends and tell them to cease their relentless hounding of my pet—" Rufus glared. "Eh… Of our _friend_, Todd 'Squee' Casil or suffer the very wrath of Hell itself."

The girl's eyes glittered hopefully. "You promise?"

Pushing Pepito aside, Rufus stepped up. "Let me handle this, devil-boy." She leaned close to the girl and began whispering into her ear. Suddenly, the girl's face went even paler than her dead white pancake at what Rufus said.

"You…you wouldn't…" the girl murmured weakly.

"Oh yes I **would**." Rufus growled, snapping her neck around fiercely, punctuating every word like an enraged drag queen. "Now, you take you crazy scrawny cracker ass back to those little starfucking whores you hang with before I fuck your shit up, BITCH!"

The girl fled sobbing, a stack of stapled papers falling out her bag.

Pepito turned to Rufus. "Oh My Gawd, Rufus! You are so **_black_**!"

She stared at him horrified while Todd bent down to pick up the papers. "Never do that again."

"Oh, I get it," barked the Anti-Christ as Todd skimmed the first page. "It's perfectly okay of _you_ to go ghetto on that pathetic mortal, but I do Valley-girl in the spirit of good humor and it's all 'oh no the little beaner **_didn't_**'."

Unaware of Todd's growing alarm the further he read, Rufus sighed. "Dude, you just flamed more than my Uncle Jay's friend. And that man's über-gay."

"Your Uncle J.?" Pepito pointed upwards.

"No, not _that_ Uncle J.! The other one. " Rufus shuffled her feet. " Okay, so Jay's not _really_ my uncle, but he and his hetro-lifemate Silent Bob help mom stop this pair of disgruntled angels from unmaking existence, she ended up picking them to be my godfathers when I was born. See, they just happened to be on the same bus mom was on when she had me, but it's a long story about why mom was traveling to Jersey in the first place. Let's just say its mostly Jay fault mom ended up naming me Rufus."

The Anti-Christ gaped at his holy foe. "Wait a fucking minute. Are you telling me that foul-mouthed stoner is a prophet? I've been getting pot from them for years. Granted, I can see how Bob got the job but what kind of shit has the Lord God Almighty been smoking to make a walking hard-on like Jay a motherfucking prophet!"

Rufus snort laughed. "Boy if you'd told me you earlier, I could've gotten you a discount."

"Un-fucking-believable!" gasped Pepito. "Hey Todd, did you know Rufus' godfathers are the same guys that dealing out front of the Quick Mart?"

"My diary…" muttered Todd absently.

Pepito and Rufus looked at each other.

"You keep a _diary_? No offense but that's pretty gay, my friend." The Anti-Christ snickered at him, then saw the mounting wrath in his friend's eyes. "You okay there, amigo?"

"My diary…" Todd repeated, crunching the packet in his shaking hands. "My fucking _diary_…"

Rufus frowned and stared sheepishly at the floor. "I tried to tell you this morning: That fucktard Slater and his dickhead cronies have been selling those all morning. Seems one of them found a backpack at that Goth bar downtown and photocopied the stuff in it. Haven't you noticed the parade of The Crow-rejects stalking you all morning?"

"My fucking **_dairy_**…"

"Look, don't worry about it," rasped Pepito. "When we find the dumb shit that did this, I'm going to make sure his suffering is even more excruciatingly painful and humiliating than you having your diary served up to the entire school. Besides, I've always wanted to toss somebody to the Golgothan."

Todd lowered the papers to glare at them both. "You knew who did this? And you didn't _tell_ me?"

"I said don't worry about it. Rufus and I will deal with Slater." Seeing the look on his friend's face, Pepito sighed. "Look, I understand that having the most intimate of your life laid bare before these fools to be mocked and used as fuel against you at a future date makes you feel it necessary to kick Slater's sorry ass personally, but you're not thinking this through. While I'd be perfectly happy to let you fight your own battles, I also happen to know that Slater happens to have his own personal goon squad made up of really large, biker-punks who aren't afraid to use excessive amounts of violence against your person. So why don't you just forget about it and let me handle this for you?"

"NO!" snarled Todd, shoving him away. "I don't want your fucking protection any more! All my life, you've taken it upon yourself to be my fucking bodyguard, with all your head exploding and demon summoning and damning anyone you catch picking on me. And I've had it! I'm fucking sick of you treating me like I'm some helpless little kid!"

"But you are some helpless little kid!" Pepito roared back. "Face the fucking facts, **_Squee_**! You always run away from danger like a stricken rat! You've never had the fucking balls to stand up for yourself! And you're never going to! Because you're a weakling and a coward! Without me around to save your sorry ass, you'd—"

Todd cut him short with a fist to jaw, storming out of the cafeteria before Pepito even hit the floor. Filled with a rage the likes of which he'd never known himself capable of feeling, Todd tore through the halls in a hunt for the bastard that violated his privacy. He found his prey loitering with his cronies behind the dumpsters at the back of the school.

"Ooo! Here's another one!" Slater crowed, yanking a newer looking notebook from his ill-gotten pack. "Ahem! 'Dear Diary, Today Mom actually spoke to me instead of ignoring my very existence the way she usually does. It was kinda depressing when she kept called me "Ms Squeaky", but at least she talked to me.' Oh, here's another good one! 'Dear Diary, I had a dream last night… A really weird dream about the scary neighbor guy…It started out like all of Johnny's visits, with him climbing in through the window like he always does…'—Oh, this is priceless…"

"Go on, Slater! " barked one of the goons. "Tells the rest!"

Slater gave his cronies a stern look. "I don't know… There's some pretty fucked up shit going on between Casil and his boyfriend. I don't think you boys need to be listening to this sort of filth. It might damage your sensitive young minds."

They all began roaring with laughter at that comment. "Quit fucking around, Slater!"

"Okay, okay! Lemme find my place and—HEY!" Slater barked in shocked when a hand reach out and snatched the diary out of his hands. He whirled around to face the interloper, glaring then smirking. "Well, look who it is boys! Boys, say hello to the illustrious author himself, Lil' Miss Squee Casil! Got anything to say to your adoring fans?"

"Give it back." hissed Todd.

"What? This?" Sneering, Slater dangled the backpack in front of Todd's face. His cronies closed rank around him. "I don't think I want to, _Squee-gee_. In fact, I think you owe us a little gratitude. Me and the boys have been helping your career. The Goths just love you and the crap you write! They're eating this shit up! How about I cut you in for, say, 20 percent of the profit and you keep cranking out the angst? After all, you don't wanna disappoint your fans now, do you _Squee-gee_?"

Todd just glared.

"Okay, okay! How about 40 percent?" Slater put on his sleaziest grin. "I know you're not stupid. And I know you realize all the things I can do for you if you just play ball. I could get you in with that crowd. I know a lot of hot girls who'd just love to hook up with an artist like you…Guys, too, if you're into that sort of thing. And let's not forget all those bands out there that need a good lyricist. I can make you the biggest name on the scene, Squee—even bigger than that bitch Ann Gwish! Just do as I tell you to, and I'll make your wildest dreams come true! What do you say, man? "

"Fuck it. I just want my stuff back."

Slater took a step back, his face contorted in mock shock as he glanced toward his goons. "Did you all fucking hear that? Here I am, offering to make him a fucking celebrity and he acts like I'm flinging poo at him! Now that's just plain rude."

The goons started chuckling and their eyes glinted in anticipation.

"Shut up, Slater." Todd growled quietly. "Just give me my backpack back before I..."

"Before you _what_?" Slater jeered and shoved Todd backwards. "Kick my ass? I'd like to see you try, bitch. I'd like to see you fucking try." He kept shoving and pushing Todd around to the amusement of his cronies. "Come on, you pussy. What's the matter? Ain't got your freak friends around to fight for you, huh? You gonna run home and cry to mommy, Squee? Or get your psycho neighbor to kick my ass, you little bitch?" With a horrible laugh, Slater reared back and knocked Todd against the dumpster with all his might. He turned away, still laughing and never saw the grubby ball-point pen till Todd had buried it into his neck.

Cackling insanely, Todd knocked the hapless boy to the ground and gleefully began stabbing Slater. He kept on and on and on long after Slater's face and chest had become a mess of blood and ink. Todd thought he heard Pepito calling his name but he was too pissed off to care. Finally, Todd gave up on Slater and stood up.

"Todd?" Rufus' voice was shakier than the hand she had placed on Todd's shoulder.

Todd looked down at the lifeless mass he'd left on the ground. Then he saw the gore on his hands. "Oh God…"

And he ran. He ran from the school, charging headlong down the sidewalk in a state of utter horror. It was more than the realization that he'd just murder someone in cold blood that made him flee. It was the fact that Todd had _enjoyed_ it. Before he knew it, Todd was back home and tearing upstairs to his room. He slammed the door shut and collapsed against it with his heartbeat battering apart his burning chest. Groaning, he still felt flush with sick satisfaction at killing Slater.

"He deserved it," cooed Shmee.

"SHUT UP!" Todd screamed, curling up in a ball on the floor. He began sobbing hysterically.

"Stop crying." The bear hissed, ignoring Todd's feeble attempt to cover his ears. "It wasn't your fault."

"Wasn't my fault!" Leaping across the room, Todd ripped Shmee—knife and all— off the wall. "I fucking stabbed him to death with a pen! A fucking ballpoint pen! And that's not my fault!"

Shmee seemed to roll his eyes. "He shouldn't have provoked you by stealing your diary and saying all those nasty things about you. There's nothing wrong with protecting yourself. Slater was a worthless waste of meat anyway. You've probably done the world a favor, turning him into hamburger."

Glaring at the bear, Todd sank to the floor underneath his window. He pulled the knife out of Shmee and stared at it with a thoughtful despair. Somewhere in darken corners of his bedroom, Todd could swear he heard a pleased little purring.

"Now, let's not be too hasty…" rasped Shmee, sounding a little panicked. "Surely there's another way."

"I'm open to suggestions, Shmee." Todd grumbled, still eyeing the knife.

"Why don't you ask Johnny to help?"

Shmee's abruptly out of character suggestion snapped Todd out of his self-destructive musing. "Ask Johnny? But you **_hate_** him. Besides, he'd probably kill me…"

"So? What have you got to lose?" the bear snapped. "You were going to commit suicide anyway! Might as well pay a visit to Johnny. Who knows? Maybe he won't kill you. Maybe he's got friends who can help you out."

Todd stared skeptically at the bear. "Johnny has _friends_?"

The bear chuckled darkly. "You'd be surprised, boy."

Standing to look out at the house next door, Todd kneaded the bear's torn belly with sticky worried fingers. "I'm not sure about this, Shmee. What if Johnny isn't home? Or what if he's died of starvation? Or maybe Johnny actually did achieve that Nirvana thing… I wouldn't want to ruin it for him by asking advice on how to get away with murder."

"Never mind the 'if'-s, boy!" hissed Shmee angrily. "You'll never know what will happen until you try."

"Okay, that was pretty fucking corny." Weary of arguing, he tossed the bear onto the bed and left the room.

"What are you doing, boy?"

"Washing this mess off my hands." Todd hollered over the rush of water in the bathroom. Arms and hands scrubbed raw clean, he walked back into the room and shucked the grimy tee-shirt. He dug a fresh one out of the closet before turning back to Shmee.

"I'm not going to tell Johnny what happen," he muttered as he yanked the shirt on. "I… I just want to make sure he's alright before I—" Todd faltered, then started over calmly. "Shmee, there's been things—strange, horrible things—going on around me…going on _inside _me, and all I want now is for everything to stop. And I think I've found the way out… You see Shmee, when I come back I'm going to get that jug of kerosene from the shed, douse both you and myself with it, then lay down on the bed and take you all back to whatever hell you came from."

The bear grinned dumbly at him.

Todd frowned, then went downstairs. He reached for the front door, then paused. Would it be wise to go knocking on Johnny's front door? Every one else who had gone that way, from the census taker to that asshole—what was his name… 'Timmy?'—didn't matter, they all ended up dead and unspeakably mutilated. But how else could he get into that house? All the windows were boarded up, the backdoor was nailed shut, and Todd didn't even want to think of what Johnny done to the chimney…

Then a memory came back to him: "_Don't worry about me doing the whole window thing anymore—" _Johnny had mumbled during one of his little visits. " _I found a tunnel that leads from my house to your basement…should be ready once I clear it out a little…"_

The light flickered when Todd snapped the switch and crept carefully down the basement stairs. It was exactly the way he remembered it: cold and full of damp cardboard boxes. He never knew where all the boxes came from, since all the toys he'd ever had fit neatly in a trashbag stuffed in the back of his closet. But he hadn't come down to worry about some moldy boxes. Yet, no matter how hard he looked, even after taking the huge flashlight from the shelf above the washer and scouring every inch of the basement six or seven times, Todd still couldn't find the tunnel.

"Figures," he snarled, plopping down onto a box. "Johnny can get in here anytime he wants to, but the first time I try to visit _him_—WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAH!"

When the painful little shots of light quit bursting in his head, Todd managed to haul himself upright and look up at the faint bright smear that opened into his basement. He felt around carefully for the flashlight, trying hard not to think about the soft muck his fingers dug through or the way it smelled like three-day old road kill during a summer heat wave. Flicking the flashlight on, Todd did his best to avoid looking too closely at gnarled tortured things jutting out of the walls and floor as he moved quickly but warily down the tunnel. The stench grew worse as Todd went further into the tunnel, noting with a good deal of dismay that the ceiling was getting lower as the floor began to slope upwards. Soon, he was crawling through the slime and cursing Johnny's very existence every inch of the way until, at last, the tunnel widened into a small round room.

There was a ladder on the far wall leading straight up into a concrete sewer pipe. Todd stared at the flaking green paint a moment, then gingerly took hold of one rusted metal rung, half-expecting a cartoony Venus flytrap to shot out and eat him alive. When nothing copyright infringing happened, he tied the flashlight to his belt and clambered up the ladder. He climbed and climbed and climbed and _climbed_ until it felt like his arms were turning into limp rubber noodles before his fingers scraped the edges of the pipe.

With more caution than a paranoid gopher at a lawnmower show, Todd peeked out his head and glanced around the room. It looked surprising normal and safe…maybe messy, but otherwise just your average rundown room. He eased out of the pipe, placing each foot down very carefully, certain that this must be some kind of trap. His feet barely touched the floorboards as he darted roachlike across the room and into the next.

He fumbled around the darkness in panic until he finally found the switch. The light blazed on and Todd was facing down the biggest rats he'd ever seen. They must've been the size of small dogs and the lead rat, judging by the fact that it was only eating, had to be at least fifty pounds. And all their beady little eyes were staring right at him.

The lead rat looked at the bone it been gnawing on, then back at Todd. With an earsplitting yowl, it pointed toward him and the rats lunged him. Todd ducked the first few rats before a pair managed to knock him off balance. He screamed, fighting wildly against the tide of ravenous rodent teeth and claws. Just when it seemed that the rats would eat him, Todd's hand closed around something hard and boxy which he quickly smashed into the nearest rat's spine. To his amazement, the rats backed off, chittering in terror as they closed rank around the lead rat.

Todd stared at the gun in his hand, then at the lead rat. Three shots and a twitching pile of vermin meat was all that remained. While the other rats tore greedily into the corpse, he slipped away. Once he had put several floors between him and the rats, Todd slumped onto a crate of nails and fumbled for a cigarette.

The rat attack had cost him one sneaker and probably gave him rabies. He was also completely lost somewhere in the hellish bowels of Johnny's house, at the mercy of whatever monsters lurked about. But at least he had a weapon now. A big, heavy weapon….

Todd started to leave and find Johnny, but stopped. His sneakerless foot hovered millimeters above a spill of rusty nails and broken glass that blocked the door. Cursing under his breath, Todd looked around hoping to find a broom or a piece of wood. Instead, he found the boots.

They were laying against the wall, tossed carelessly aside and forgotten. The p-leather was cracked, but their soles still seemed sturdy enough to protect one from the risk of tetanus. And the boots looked about the right size…

But these were _Johnny's_ boots. Then again, Johnny wasn't wearing them and Todd really didn't want to run into those rats again despite having the gun. He debated for a second, then shook out the boots and—tossing his remaining sneaker—put them on. To his amazement, the boots fit perfectly, coming to a stop just under his knees. Todd wiggled his toes and watched fascinated when the pair of shiny clefts wiggled too.

Feeling his confidence growing, Todd boldly walked over the nails and glass. He wandered aimlessly from room to room, glancing at discarded torture devices, baroque death machines, even a hallway lined with hideous and beautiful paintings. It was in a cramped storeroom that smelled of turpentine and old blood that Todd heard angry, hushed voices overhead.

Suspicious but hopeful, Todd crept up another flight of stairs with the gun held ready. He snapped on the light and thrust the gun out defensively, but no one was there. The only things in this room were a pair of gruesomely painted Doughboys stabbed to the wall, a framed photo of a decaying bunny's head, and the chubby smile of a Bub's Burger-Boy. Then a cockroach scuttled out from hiding and stood watching the boy, curious at the presence of a new human.

"Oh great." Todd muttered. "I almost get eaten alive by rats, crawl through corpse juice, and what do I find? No Johnny! Just a fucking talking roach!" In a huff, he turned and started back down the stairs when something thumped against the back of his head. Todd whirled around and was surprised to see that one of the Doughboys—the one with 'FUCK' painted on its chest—was now missing an arm.

"Hey there, buddy boy!" chirped the other Doughboy, tone jagged and frenzied.

Todd screamed, firing in panic at the Doughboys.

"HOLY SHIT!" howled the dark Doughboy. It pointed angrily at the smoking hole by its head. "What the fuck are you trying to do! You could have killed me!"

"That would be a feat, considering neither of us are technically _alive_…" sneered 'FUCK' with a voice like a zombie bloodhound.

"I'm working on it, ass-munch." Turning away from its twin, the Doughboy smiled apologetically at the boy. "Sorry, didn't mean to frighten you."

"It's a bit late for that!" Todd squeaked, then realized what he was doing. "Wait. This isn't right… You two can't talk! You're fucking Styrofoam! Oh god, I'm starting to hear voices again…"

The Doughboy glared. "Hey, it's not _my _fault you're going! Now, could you please get this knife out of me? It's fucking annoying!"

Holding the gun in one hand, Todd grabbed the knife handle and yanked it free, flipping the Doughboy onto the table. Then he backed away quickly.

"Thank you." It stretched its stubby arms, humming in pleasure. "Okay, where were we? Oh yeah! Introductions! It's polite thing to do, isn't it? Making introductions and getting to know your friends…"

He stared at the Doughboys, fumbling absentmindedly for a fresh cigarette. "This is insane…"

"How cute," murmured 'FUCK' in a morbidly happy way. "Only a kid and already he's trying to kill himself. Oh, how I love you teens and your mindless worship of all things self-destructive."

The other Doughboy rounded on 'FUCK'. "Shut you goddamn hole, D-boy! I'm trying to talk here!"

"D-boy?" asked Todd. "But I thought his name was 'FUCK'?"

"No! He's Pscyhodoughboy! _I'm **Mister Fuck**_! …wait. Scratched that. It's just 'Mr. Eff'."

"But why does he have it written on his shirt? And why do you have 'Z?'? What the fuck does that shit even mean, anyway! What? Am I supposed question the fucking alphabet now! And why the hell does the toast always land butter-side down!"

D-boy sighed miserably. "Look's like we've traded up to a younger, even more manic version of Johnny…"

"I know…" Mr. Eff sniffed, wiping away a tear. "Ain't it great!"

"You two know Johnny?" asked Todd hopefully.

Realizing he'd made a mistake, Mr. Eff laughed. "Johnny? Johnny _who_? I don't know anybody named Johnny!"

"But how did you guys get in here? And what did D-boy mean, 'traded up'?"

"You ask too many questions, boy." Mr. Eff snarled curtly. "You were brought here for a reason, boy! Quit wasting time and get me the fuck out of this hellhole!"

"The master said we _both_ were to go with the boy." D-boy groused. "He will be most…_displeased_ if you left me behind."

Todd arched an eyebrow. "Master? What master? Are you guys demons or something?"

"Enough!" screamed Mr. Eff. "Stop asking question and serve you purpose!"

"Wait." Todd growled quietly. "I know who you are now. You're those _things_ I've been hearing lately. You're trying to drive me crazy…"

D-boy let out a disdainful snort. "Like you aren't crazy already…"

Roaring, Mr. Eff lunged forward and screamed at D-boy. "GOD DAMN IT! I told you to shut you motherfucking mouth, you tubby piece of shit! I'm not going to let you ruin my chance at freedom again just because you want to cease existing! Not like _last time_…"

"Pathetic mites," sneered another voice. Todd turned and saw the Burger-Boy's face had changed, becoming hideous and greedy. "You both are merely shadows of an illusion! It amuses me to no end how you miserable figments think that you can escape your ultimate fate. "

"Nobody asked for your opinion, Reverend." D-boy snapped, his dolefully voice taking on a hint of cattiness. "And, for your information, _I'm _not trying to escape. I _want_ be obliterated! It's moron-boy there that tried to run! It's all his fault I had to come back to this miserable body. Now back the fuck off me, you motherfucking son of bitch, before I take that fucking hamburger and shove up your sorry ass!"

Mr. Eff gaped in amazement. He stared back and forth from D-boy to the Reverend. "Who the fuck is this chubby bitch?"

"I was here long before you, traitor." The Reverend turned to Todd. "Listen to nothing this wretched parasites say, for they wish only to exploit you as they did their creator. They will betray you, forsaking you the same way they have forsook their creator and lead you down the path that leads to madness and doom."

"Okay." Todd moved a little closer to the Burger-Boy. "First talking Pillsbury Doughboys and now you… What is going around here?"

"Do not concern yourself with us. You aren't here to argue with pastry displays or boys holding hamburgers… You're here to see Johnny, aren't you?"

"Yes! Please, tell me you know where he is."

"FUCK JOHNNY!" roared Mr. Eff, annoyed that he was being ignored.

"Yes." The Reverend cooed sweetly. "Fuck Johnny."

Todd blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You may not be aware of this, my child," began the Reverend gravely. "But Johnny has gotten into his fevered mind to eradicate all emotion. He wishes to remove all his desire for _feeling_, thinking that this will free him. He is mistaken, of course. He'll always be a slave… And I _need_ you to saw him that. Teach him. Show him how _good_ it is to feel…to give in every filthy want…"

"Hey!" Mr. Eff snapped. "You can't talk to my boy like that! You think I'm going to stand here and let you call him a faggot, you meaty fucker? I ought break my boot off in your burger-munching ass."

"Silence, maggot!" the Reverend growled. "You know _nothing_ about the boy. And you don't know the _real_ reason he has come."

Roaring in frustration, Todd grabbed the Reverend. "Would you stop with this cryptic bullshit! I just want to talk to Johnny!"

The Reverend snickered. "Oh, I bet you want to use your mouth on him, alright…but I doubt you'll be saying much."

"YOU FUCKING PERVERT!" Todd screamed, hurling the Reverend through the other door only to hear the Burger-Boy crack against something that landed with a meaty 'thud!'. Darting over to the body, Todd was horrified to see that Johnny sprawled out cold on the floor, blood weeping from a gash in his head.

---_To be continued..._


	4. Chapter 3: Mixed Signals

**Chapter 3:**** The Dissatisfaction of Mixed Signals**

_"Because…because I could never find a food I liked.  
Had I found it, believe me I never would have caused such a ruckus  
and would have stuffed myself like you and everyone else."_

**_ Franz Kafka, The Hunger Artist_**

Johnny stretched out across the floorboards in a jumble of limbs like some broken toy tossed in the trash. A few feet from his head was the vile grinning head of the Burger Boy, laying where it had rolled to stop after being snapped off its chubby body. Bits of ceramic dust stuck to the ugly, seeping purple-green bruise that now swelled on Johnny's temple.

"Oh my God…" Todd gibbered as he stared at the body. "I killed Johnny."

"You bastard."

"Shut up, Reverend!" snarled Mister Eff, punting the Burger Boy's head into the dresser. The doughboy turned to Todd with a pleased smirk. "Well, this isn't the most impressive or even the most creative killing I've seen, but it certainly was effective. Now, let's get rid of the carcass…unless you wanna have him stinking up the place. Hurry now! HURRY! Before the rigor sets in…"

Todd gapped in horror. "You sick fuck! He is—_was_ my friend! Uh, okay, so maybe Johnny wasn't exactly a friend—But at least he hasn't tried to kill me!"

"Yet." Mister Eff groused. "And now he's dead. So quit bitching and bury him already."

"Oh Mister _Fuck…_" cooed D-boy, now leering over at them from his perch on Johnny's knee. "He's not quite dead yet…"

"Johnny's alive?!" Todd rushed over and fell to his knees next to the body. He laid his head on Johnny's chest and strained to hear even a single breath or heartbeat.

Mister Eff scowled then looked to his strangely cheery counterpart. "Hey…How the fuck did you get off the wall? And why's your arm reattached?"

"Oh, don't worry about it," chuckled D-boy, hopping down and grabbing up a hammer. "Let's just chalk it up to a convenient plothole. Now, pardon me while I get reacquainted with my _dear_ old friend, the **_Good _**Reverend Meat…"

Arching one eyebrow, Mister Eff watched D-boy trot off to get some long overdue payback before looking back at Todd.

"He's still breathing…" sighed the boy. "He's still breathing…"

"Yeah, well he's probably a brain damaged vegetable now." Mister Eff hissed. The doughboy laughed off Todd's glare, but the laughter died when he noticed the boy slipping his arms underneath Johnny. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"What does it look like?" snapped Todd as he lifted Johnny up with unnatural ease. "I'm going to…Wow! Johnny's awfully light. I mean, even for a guy his size, it shouldn't be this easy to pick him up…"

Mister Eff rolled his empty eyes. "Great. He's having another one of his stupid starving artist moments."

" '_The Hunger Artist_'…" Todd muttered, carrying Johnny into the living room. He stumbled in the darkness, finally finding the couch with the grayish glow of the television set.

The doughboy, who'd been following close behind, blinked up at him. "Pardon?"

"That story by Kafka, the one about a performance artist whose only talent is his ability to fast." Todd explained as he laid Johnny down on the couch. "Haven't you ever heard of it?"

"No. I fucking despise Kafka."

A nasty smirk crept across Todd's face. "Too bad. Here's the synopsis: The story begins with the Hunger Artist, a man once famed for being able to fast for forty days straight. He used to tour the country, drawing in huge crowds at every town and village he'd visit. The Hunger Artist, despite his celebrity, was always disappointed because his promoter would never allow the fast to exceed the forty day limit. The Artist felt himself cheated by this limitation on his fasting and fought against it futilely when he was taken out of the cage each fact. So confident was he that the Artist believed he could go much, much, much longer… if only _they_ would let him."

Todd paused, tenderly lifting Johnny up so he could sit on the couch. He began speaking again, voice reverent as he let Johnny's head rest in his lap and stroked the gaunt features of the other man's face.

"Then the public, in it's own special cruel fickle way, lost interest in such morbid displays of self-denial and went on to brighter, livelier entertainments. And so the Artist cut ties with his promoter and went to work at a circus, his cage placed next to the animal cages. Forgotten, the Artist at last got his wish to fast for as long as he wished, yet no one cared to even be bothered with changing the sign that tracked how long the Artist had been starving himself. Then one day, the circus manager came round and saw the apparently empty cage. It took a moment of investigating before anyone remembered that this was where they'd left the Hunger Artist and they found him laying in the rotten straw. With the manager leaning close to hear him, the Artist explained that the real reason he fasted was because he could never find a food he liked. The Artist starved himself to death, you see, because he was dissatisfied…"

Todd found himself suddenly choking up, but shook it off. "But no one else, not even the manager who heard his final words, realized the significance. In their apathy and blindness, they buried the Hunger Artist with his rotting straw and placed in his cage a young panther. And, unlike the Hunger Artist, the panther was alive—so painfully alive!—and he was satisfied with the meat they gave him. Oh, he was very satisfied indeed. The End."

"Yeah. Whatever, queer." Mister Eff snorted. He gagged at the way Todd looked down on Johnny.

"Go away."

The doughboy blinked at Todd at first in disbelief, then glared with outright disgust. "Fine! I'll leave you girls to 'cuddle'…" With that, Mister Eff stomped out of the room.

Todd waited until the doughboy was no longer in earshot, then let out a little whimper. In a cautiously gentle way, he drew Johnny closer, cradling his limp body like he used to Shmee's. He rocked back and forth for a while, resting his cheek against the top of Johnny's head. The tears start quietly but soon grew in wetly frantic sobbing as he clutched Johnny tighter and tighter until Todd could feel the bones under the numb flesh. Chest hurting and wet-faced, he pressed a kiss on Johnny's head then pressed another against his forehead then another on one cold cheek then another on the other cheek as he fingers groped and dug in deep to get a reaction. He started clawing and pulling at Johnny, frustrated by the unresponsive limbs. His mouth quickly covered Johnny's, teeth tearing at the passive lips and his tongue forcing its way inside. Todd gagged on the nasty bitter flavor, but kissed harder and deeper.

A hand fumbled against Todd's shoulder, but he didn't notice it or the muffled grunt of surprise. In a flurry of swipes and kicks, Johnny threw Todd off him and into the television. The room went black.

"FUCK! GOD DAMN DISEASED SON OF A BITCH…" began the litany of obscenities from Johnny while he spat and flailed angrily through the darkness. He tripped over Todd as the boy tried to get back to his feet. Roaring, Johnny grabbed Todd's neck and, wrestling the boy to the floor, started throttling him. He only let go after Todd managed to slam a fist up under Johnny's ribcage hard enough to wind him.

Todd got off the floor in a leap and ran toward a door, any door. He tore it open the moment his fingers hit a knob, and he blinked, amazed to find he was staring out onto the street in warm light of the late afternoon. He barely made it onto the step before Johnny caught up, grabbing Todd's arm. Reflexively, the boy whipped around and punched Johnny with all his might, taking off a dead run for his front porch when Johnny released his grip. He bolted inside, looking back once to see Johnny clutching his nose and stare at him in shock.

Breathless and lightheaded, Todd staggered upstairs to his room. He stood at the foot of his bed and glared at Shmee with every ounce of hatred he had left. "You bastard… You rotten, lint-filled bastard! You knew. You fucking knew! You fucking set me up! Tell, Shmee: Was it a plot between you and the Burger Boy, or did you just come up with it all by yourself?"

"You're bleeding," was all the bear said.

Reaching up, Todd touched the sleeve of his shirt and drew back a wetly red hand. He looked down his arm at the slow running lines the dripped to the carpet. He stumbled into the bathroom swearing explicitly, tore of his shirt and began picking the glass out of his shoulder. Soon the sink and countertop were covered in gory splats, pieces of TV screen, gauze and first-aid tape.

Todd stood at the sink, trembling from the pain that had abruptly slammed him after the shock wore off. The bandages on his shoulder were already showing little red blots, seeping red blots that pulsed and stabbed _pain_. Whimpering, he took out a bottle of Vicodin for the medicine cabinet and stumbled back to his room. Todd dug out the bottle of red wine Pepito had given him last New Years from the drawer he'd stashed it and washed down a couple of pills before collapsing backwards on the bed.

There was a woeful chuckle from the dresser. "Chasing pills with alcohol? Looks like the boy's on _my side_ now!"

Jerking up, Todd turned to look at the doughboys now staring at him: D-boy gloatingly so and Mister Eff looking disgruntled.

"How the fuck doing you here?" he growled.

"We _live _here."

"How's that work?! You're just Styrofoam!"

"Aren't we the perceptive one…" D-boy hopped off the dresser and clambered onto the bed. He settled himself cozily next to Todd's head. "But we are more than simple pastry display pieces. My lesser half and I were animated by the Master. A triumph of his will, if you will. Our duty is to serve the Master and our reward will be re-integration with the Master as it sinks back into the Void from whence it came. We are fragments of the Master, living by his whim and doing his will!"

"BULLSHIT!" screamed Mister Eff. "If we're just part of this 'Master', then why did we come back and he didn't? I'll tell you why: because the Master is dead! It's been flushed down the metaphysical toilet and out of this reality. We are free now! FREE!"

"Presumptuous mite!" spat the other doughboy. "If we're so free, then why are we attached to him!" He jerked a thumb at Todd.

For a moment, all Mister Eff did was sputter and grumble. Finally he just huffed up and glared.

"You can't answer me, can you?" D-boy purred. "You know we're not free, and that we'll never be free."

"Oh, I will get my freedom…" growled Mister Eff. "Soon. Very, very soon. Now shut up, you sorry mother fucker!"

"Both of you hush!" snapped Shmee from where he was cradled in Todd's arm. "Can't you see the boy's sleeping?"

"Sleeping?!" whined both doughboys.

"Yes. Now be quiet and get out of sight."

Mister Eff rankled visibly. "Fuck you! Who the hell do you think you are?"

"As you wish, master." Grabbing the protesting Mister Eff by his arm, D-boy dragged the other doughboy off. When they had disappeared into the recesses of the closet, Shmee sighed.

"Idiots."

---

---

Todd jerked suddenly out of the medicated tangle of sleep, opening his eyes just enough to see the clock.

It was 2 am.

His head felt woozy and thick still from the pills but he was aware of a presence in his room. It neared the end of his bed, then paused.

"Squee? You asleep?"

The gun was in Todd's hand and Johnny's face before either of them could think.

Johnny blinked. "Shit! Put that away before you hurt yourself."

Shaking his head, Todd only glared and felt his finger tighten on the trigger.

"Squee? Come on!" snapped Johnny. "That isn't a fucking toy. Now put it down."

"No."

Johnny's eyebrow raised a little, but he shrugged. "Fine. But it does hurt to know you think I'll try to hurt you…"

"Try to?! _Try to_?!" Sputtering in anger, Todd began waving his hands around. "You almost strangled me! I spent a fucking hour and a half pulling bits of glass out of my fucking shoulder because of you!"

"That was you?"

Todd gaped at him. Before he could say anything, Johnny spoke up.

"Okay, that was my bad. Sorry. I didn't realize you were doing CPR, but I also hate people touching me. Such intimacies violently sicken me," he sneered. "And I didn't recognize you, anyway. I remember when you use to barely come up to my shins and now here you are towering over me like a Goth-ed up scarecrow. Damn! I swear kids now a-days… What happened to kids acting like kids? You're twelve!"

"I'm not."

Johnny blinked again. "Oh! Eh…how old are you?"

"I turned fifteen two months ago." Todd's voice was flatly cold. "Now get the hell out before I shoot you in the head."

"Head shots… Why does it always have to be head shots?!" snarled Johnny. "Doesn't anyone shoot people in the kneecaps anymore? Or the heart and lungs? Or the gut? Gut shots are lethal if you leave the victim long enough. They'll either bleed out or succumb to septic infection from all the intestinal bacteria."

"Because there's a chance that you'll live. That, and you are a fucking zombie."

"WHAT?!"

"Think about, Johnny," growled Todd. "You won't die. People don't notice you unless they want to hurt you…or, more accurately, you want to hurt _them._ I've figured you out, Johnny. You're not human. You're just another monster…"

"You're in my shoes."

"Huh?"

Johnny pointed down at Todd's feet. "My old boots. You're wearing my old boots."

Grinding his teeth, Todd slumped onto the bed. "I'm threatening to kill you because you are an inhuman creature and you're commenting on my footwear?! God…" He fumbled for his cigarettes. Popping one in his mouth, Todd started to light it when Johnny reached out and fiercely yanked it away.

"What the hell are you doing, Squee?" he snapped. "You're not old enough to smoke! And anyway it's a nasty fucking habit. You'll get lung cancer, have horrible breath, and yellowed teeth."

"Like you do?" hissed Todd as he gulped back some wine. He wiped the top and offered it to Johnny. "Wanna drink?"

"That had better not be what I think it is…"

The boy laughed. "Blood? No…well, not unless they're using it for Communion anyway."

"Holy shit…" Johnny frowned in disappointment and anger. "You're drinking, too? And what are those? " He snatched the bottle off Todd's bed and stared. "Vicodin? You're stealing pills from your mother's stash?!"

"Those are mine." He stood and gently took them back. "The doctors prescribed them for me because I have a severe anxiety disorder. And those are only start. I've got prescriptions for Rohypnol, Lortab, and Zyprexa."

"Why the hell would any sane person prescribe a kid all this?!"

Todd sighed. "Because I have migraines so bad I black out from the pain. And don't get me started about trying to sleep…"

"But Zyprexa?" muttered Johnny. "Aren't those for schizoids?"

"And people with bi-polar disorders and other psychotics." Todd sat back down, staring at the bottle in his hand. "That must be why I'm going crazy… I'm a certified nut-case and I'm off my fucking meds."

Johnny sat down next to him. "You aren't crazy, Squee."

He glared at Johnny. "Yes I am. Didn't you even wonder why I was in you house today?"

"Yeah. That was kind of weird…"

"I killed someone." When Johnny only stared, Todd blundered on. "I killed a guy today at school with a pen. A fucking ballpoint pen. And I _liked_ it, Johnny. It…It made me feel _good_. In a dirty way. I was so fucking scared and freaked out, I…I couldn't even think straight. I thought… You're the only person I know who kills people all the time, so I went into your house to find you and the rats—the horrible, filthy rats! And then there was those that fucking Burger Boy and…and…" He grabbed Johnny by the shirt and started shaking him frantically. "Why did you do this to me?! Why, you son of a bitch?! WHY?!"

"Dammit! What did I say about touching?" Slapping Todd's hands away, Johnny growled. "And why is this all of as sudden my fault?"

"Because I'm turning into you!"

Johnny looked like he was going to vomit. "Okay. Let me make one thing perfectly clear: I don't like killing. Oh sure, there's a certain amount of satisfaction in depleting the asshole population, I know that what I'm doing is wrong. I can't even stand the blood or gore or any other viscera of humanity—living or dead. And I sure as hell don't get off on it. In fact, I fucking insulted by the suggestion. Squee, if you weren't…well, Squee, I'd flay you alive for saying that. Sex in any form is appalling to me.  
"Sex is just another throwback to our prehistoric ancestors. Heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual…I loathe sexuality and it's primitive mechanics. The act in all its varied forms is a brutal, undignified show of grunts and body fluids. I was watching this show the other night on the SCIENCE channel about these womb-tank things… If they've got those now, then we don't even need to burden women with the agony of _pregnancy_ anymore! We don't need it anymore! We can all be born from tubes! No more needless intimate contacts, no mess, no fuss… Technology has eliminated sex completely. Once we get rid of sex, we can get rid of all the needless emotional baggage that goes with it. Without sex, we can finally progress beyond need for emotion. And without emotion, we will become logical beings independent of the need for another human."

"But we wouldn't stop being human then?" Todd asked grimly. "Humans are emotional creatures, Johnny. We _need_ other people. We need the _input_, the _sensation_ of wanting and being wanted… People need emotional fulfillment, otherwise they become raging sociopaths. Like you are."

Johnny stared at Todd for a second, then got up and headed toward the window.

"What's the matter, Johnny?" jeered the boy nastily. "Did I offend you?"

"No," came the reply. "I just need some more time to think this over before I can give you an answer to that."

Todd watched him jump out and disappear into his house, then he looked down at the empty bottle in his hand. "Aw, fuck… I need a drink."

Staggering to his feet, Todd put on a fresh shirt and his ratty jacket. He stumbled out to his bike and began swerving his way toward the nearest 24-7 minimart.

---


	5. Chapter 4: Jenny

**Chapter 4:** **Jenny Was a Friend of Mine**

_"Soy un perdedo…  
I'm a loser, baby, so why don't you kill me,"  
'Loser', Beck_

In hindsight, Todd realized that bicycling while drunk and heavily medicated wasn't the brightest idea he'd had lately. But Johnny's little visit left Todd feeling too uncomfortably sober. There wasn't a single living creature out that morning as he swerved the six blocks to 24/7. It was the most uneventful ride in Todd's life, and the mini-mart was just as quiet. Even the girl working there was surprisingly friendly for somebody working at 3 am, but her constant talk about the murder and rape of a girl behind the mall a few years ago was making Todd nervous.

"You know," whispered the clerk as she handed him the bag and kept glancing at the storeroom door. "If there'd been someone around to _call the police_, maybe she'd been saved. You know a timely _call to the police_ may be all the difference between life and death in some situations. Yep. There's a **_cop_** that patrols around this neighborhood and likes to park out by the CD Cesspool, so if somebody would _call the police_, he could be her in a matter of minutes…That is, if somebody _called the police_."

"O-kay." Todd paid her, taking note of the pleading look in her eyes. He left quietly and peddled toward the nearest payphone. Just four yards from it, a van pulled out suddenly from an alley. With a painful awareness that Fate in all it's black and twisted humor had reasserted itself, Todd went crashing down onto the pavement. He sprawled there in a head ringing haze while beer slowly pooled around him. Dimly, he noticed the driver gotten out of the care and coming toward him.

"Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit…" Leaning down, he waved a hand in Todd's face. "Hey! Hello! Hey! You okay?"

Todd glared past the growing red haze. "Do I look like I'm okay?"

The driver laughed. "You scared the shit out of me! Lemme help you up."

"Thanks," grumbled Todd as he grabbed onto the guy's hand. He was immediately overwhelmed with a vague disgust for this guy. Or maybe it was the sudden vision of the 24/7 girl being horrifically murdered… Either way, once on his feet, Todd reeled and fought back the urge to projectile vomit.

"What's the matter?"

"I feel sick," hissed Todd as he jerked back and leaned against the van.

"Oh fuck! Please don't fucking tell me you have a concussion!"

"No…I'm just hung-over." Todd growled as he pushed the guy away, shocked by the hateful tone of his voice. '_This isn't like me…'_

The driver laughed again. "Guess that's what the beers for… Shit! Sorry about that."

"Forget about. I needed to sober up for class anyway," bit out the voice that came from Todd's mouth.

'_This not me…'_

"Really?" Now the driver had that 'buddy-buddy' tone. "Which college you go to?"

There came a laugh that made Todd flesh crawl. "College? I'm still in fucking high-school."

"Bullshit! What are you, a retard or something?"

"You must be, dickhead. I'm only fifteen," growled the voice.

'_This is **definitely** not me!'_ thought Todd as he numbly realized something was wrong. '_I'm not like this! Aggression isn't me— is it? And I sound like…No! No-no! Shut the hell up now and run!"_ Vainly, he managed to wrestle back enough control to try to get away, but the guy clapped an arm around his shoulder.

"Hey! Don't get you're panties in twist, kid." he cooed in a sickeningly friendly way. "I didn't mean anything bad by that. Just that you look mature for your age. Bet you get that a lot, huh kid?"

Jerking away from him again, Todd found himself glaring and snapping back, "My name isn't 'kid'. It's Johnny."

"Johnny?" A change came over the guy's face and the smirk twisted into something hateful. "How _funny_! I used to _know_ a Johnny…but things to work out to well between us. Artistic differences, you might say. Well, no point in digging up the past, is there? Some things should just stay buried, right _Johnny_?"

"Whatever." Shrugging, Todd picked up his badly dented bike and turned his back on the guy. "I can't say it's been nice to met you, but have a good day anyway…uh, what's your name?"

"Jimmy."

Todd felt something unpleasant drop into his stomach. Suddenly back in control of himself, Todd laughed nervously as he began to quickly walk away. "Well, uh…see you again sometime, Jimmy! Bye now." Hopping onto his bike, he pedaled at a break-neck speed heedless of the way the front wheel wobbled erratically as he tried to put as much distance between himself and Jimmy as humanly possible. Even when he'd gotten to his front yard, Todd found himself glancing uneasily over his shoulder, certain that Jimmy would follow. He didn't know why, but this guy was even more terrifying than Johnny was…

Speaking of Johnny, what in God's name had made Todd tell that freak Johnny was his name! And what about the freaky 'out-of-body' moment? Something was definitely going wrong here…

"Welcome home, SON!" chirped Mister Eff sarcastically as Todd staggered into his room.

Todd collapsed onto the bed. "I'm not in the mood for you're crap right now…"

"Aw, did some mean boys beat you up and steal you're lunch money again?" Mister Eff cooed, clambering up beside him. Hands on hips, he took a patronizingly fatherly tone. "Now, son, you've gotta stand up for yourself against bullies. I didn't raise you to be no little sissy boy, did I? Don't you have a gun now, boy? And didn't I show you how to use it? Get you're sorry ass up Johnny-boy, and show those sorry sons of bitches you ain't gonna take their shit."

"WHAT THE FUCK!" Grabbing the doughboy by his neck and squeezing until paint flaked under his nails, Todd began screaming at Mr. F. "WHY DID YOU CALL ME THAT? WHY, YOU OZONE DESTORYING LITTLE SHIT!"

"Holy shit! I was only playing with you!" When Todd dropped him, Mister Eff glared. "God damn, bitch! What the fuck is your problem?"

Todd started to snarl something nasty at the doughboy, but shook his head and fell face down on his bed. "Fuck this. I am NOT going to waste my breath talking to a fucking pastry display."

"Hmph! Well I never!" Mister Eff flounced off in a huff. As he went back to the closet to sulk, D-boy climbed up next to Todd.

"And to think," quipped the more somber of the pair. "He calls **_me_** a queen."

"Because you are a screaming QUEEN!" screamed Mister Eff, coming out of the closet.

"Eat me, closet case!"

"You fucking wish, you crab-ridden trannie whore!"

"Self-indulgent jackass!"

"Ass-rimming nihilist!"

"Catamite!"

Mister Eff's face contorted in rage and confusion. "I don't even know what that word means!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," D-boy sneered. "Let me put it in a way even an ignorant piece of trash like you could understand: YOU WORTHLESS COCKSUCKER!"

"THAT'S IT, BITCH!" Leaping up on the bed, Mister Eff kicked off a screaming, flailing fight with his other half.

"Fuck this shit…" Feeling sluggish and emotionally reamed out, Todd grabbed both of the doughboys then carelessly flung them into a dresser drawer. Once sure they had shut up, he staggered back to fall onto his bed and curled into a spiraling blackout…

… "Are you okay?" A hand was gently shaking his shoulder.

Todd jerked away, and then relaxed slightly when he realized it was only Rufus. "Uh…what are you doing here?"

"Checking up on you, Squee" growled a voice behind him. Todd winced, reluctantly turning to face a rather upset Antichrist. "You've been gone for almost a week. A fucking _week_! Oh, by the way: Who the fuck is D-boy?"

Groggy and with one hell of a migraine, Todd stared at him. "What?"

"He and this other guy—I think he's name was "Mr. Eff" or something— kept answering the phone when we tried to call you." Rufus frowned at him in concern. She should more than a little uneasy when she asked, "Are they friends of yours?"

"Friends? More like parasites!" snapped Todd as he staggered out of bed. "They haven't given me a minute's peace since I found them!"

"Well, isn't that **_nice_**…" hissed Pepito. "So you run off and leave me and Christ-crispy here to clean up the mess you left while you hide out with some freakish Goths bastards? And just what the fuck have you doing for the past couple of days? Smoking crack and fucking you're new bloodsucking 'friends'?"

"It wasn't like that!" Todd barked back before launching into a rapid-fire explanation. "After what happened with Slater, I panicked and ran away, alright? When I calmed down, I went to Johnny's to see if he could help me, but there were these rats—these horrible, FLESH-EATING DISEASED RATS—and then I put on the boots and I heard voices…and there were these talking Doughboys and a perverted Bub's Burger Boy who kept make filthy comments about Johnny and me…then Johnny went crazy, babbling about how disgusting sex is….and I went to get some beers, but this fucking bastard called Jimmy or Timmy or something 'Mmy' almost runs me over and…"

While he was ranting, Todd noticed Rufus whispering something in Pepito's ear and her gesturing at her forehead.

"You think I'm crazy don't you?" he hissed, voice dropping into a frightfully familiar rasp.

"To be brutally honest, yes. I do think you're crazy," replied Pepito with an acidic cattishness, and then continued in a slightly more worried tone. "But that's not currently germane to the discussion. Right now, I'm a little concerned about the large gash on your head…"

Rufus nodded, wincing as she leaned in to for a closer inspection of the slightly greenish scab. "Yeah, your head looks pretty bad…maybe we should take you to the hospital…"

"I'M NOT CRAZY! I'LL SHOW YOU I'M NOT CRAZY! AND MY HEAD'S JUST FINE!" screamed Todd. Reaching into the dresser, he dug out the Doughboys and shoved them angrily toward the other two. "See? They're real! REAL, GOD DAMMIT! And they talk too! Come on, you rotten shits, say something! It's rude not to introduce yourselves to our _guests_. After all, it is the _polite thing_ to do…"

Calmly, Pepito put a hand on Todd's arm. "Okay…I think we need to just chill, Squee."

"Damn you fuckers!" Todd screamed, forgetting that his friends were standing there for a moment as he threw the Doughboys across the room. Both hit the window with a fragile thump. Shifting from postal rage to a slightly calmer state of pissed off, Todd glared at them. "They're doing this to spite me…"

"Sure they are…" Pepito cooed, leading Todd to the bed while Rufus warmed up. "Just sit down and we can talk about your…eh, friends."

"…I not crazy…" groaned Todd mournfully.

"Of course you aren't…Now, Rufus!"

With a loud "KIAI!" of holiness, she reared back and smacked Todd's head with her Kung-fu Style Healing Hands. She looked down at the rather stunned boy. "You better now?"

"Well, I don't have a migraine anymore…"

Rufus turned to Pepito with a satisfied grin. "See? I told you it was just a concussion."

"But the Doughboys…Jimmy…Ah, fuck." Slumping, Todd threw up his hands in defeat. "Yes. Forgive the babbling! Just the lingering by-product of me hitting my head in a drunken spree of stupid panic, I suppose."

The Antichrist nodded in agreement, but still gave didn't look convinced. "Right. A concussion. And I'm…_sorry_. About the shit I said the other day."

"What? Oh, **_that_**…" Feeling a sting of pride, Todd mumbled grudgingly down at his feet, "And I'm sorry too, I guess…"

Pulling both boys into a group hug and playfully groping the Antichrist's ass, Rufus happily chirped, "And I forgive you both!"

Before Pepito could give the happy Second Coming an up-close and personal view of her own internal organs, Todd asked, "So, what happened to Slater anyway?"

"Oh, I rose him from the dead," Rufus answered casually as she let them go. "I do that sometimes. Like this one time when I was really little, I was out playing in the woods and I found this mutilated corpse in a shallow grave and I was poking at him with a stick, then…"

"Absolutely fascinating," sneered Pepito, not taking his eyes off Todd. "I sure your first miracle was a JOY and WONDER of divine providence, yadda-yadda… But there are some things me and Squee need to talk bout right now, so why don't you shut the fuck up and leave."

Rufus glared and huffed. "Uh, RUDE! Besides, as miraculous as it was, Edgar definitely wasn't overjoyed to be alive again. In fact, he was pretty pissed off about the whole thing. 'I was finally at peace with myself', that's how Edgar put it," she muttered sadly, resuming her story. "Said he wanted to be dead, that he had been looking forward to death for years. He told me about how he'd been one of those CSI guys, how spending all his time with the worst humanity could do to itself was making him detached and depressed, and being in the closet too was only making things worse. But then he was kidnapped on the way to this 'lover's leap' to commit suicide and murdered by some nutjob. Ironic, don't you think?"

"Very." Pepito droned absently.

"Well, I believe Pepito's right. You two best be going now…" Smiling in a frighteningly disturbed fashion, Todd hustled the pair downstairs and out the front door. "I bid you both adieu! Bye-bye now!"

"Hey! What the fu—" Before Pepito could argue, Todd had slammed the door in his face and they could hear him hastily fastening the deadbolts he'd put in last year after the zombie chicken rampage.

Rufus stared thoughtfully at the door, and then turned to Pepito. "You know, I think Todd might be getting worse…"

"Golly-gee, Captain Obvious! I think you're right," barked the Antichrist. Turning his back on Rufus, Pepito tried to conceal the hurt he was feeling under a front of aloof displeasure as he walked away. "If Squee insists upon being left alone with his rapidly deteriorating mental condition, then so be it! I wash my hands of this trainwreck!" In a display of contempt, he whipped around and screamed at back Todd's house. "DID YOU HEAR ME, SQUEE! I WASH MY HANDS OF YOU!"

Watching from the window, Todd frowned and went back upstairs.

"So," rasped D-boy from his perch on the edge of Todd's bed. "That went well…"

"Who the fuck gave you permission to answer the phone?" Todd snarled, voice dropping to a vicious bass.

The doughboy only shrugged. "Well, you weren't in any condition to receive guests so we took upon ourselves to cover for you. Is that so wrong?"

"Yeah!" Mister Eff barked. "Here we are, busting our asses to keep you safe and this is the thanks we get? Tossed across the room like dirty socks! You ungrateful shit! That freak boyfriend of yours nearly gutted me when I went to the store for some groceries."

"Wait. You left the house, too? You can't… you can't do that!"

Groaning unhappily, D-boy hung his head and glared over at his insignificant other. "You blew it, bitch."

"Oh, fuck you! It's was your brilliant idea in the first place! And I'm not the bitch…" added Mister Eff in a whisper.

"Hold up." Todd's puzzled tone had taken on shades of quietly building rage. "Just how the hell were you able to do all that? You're both fucking Styrofoam."

Mister Eff laughed nastily. "Oh you silly, simple boy! Did you think we were stuck in just these pathetic forms? Now that we got you, we've got some serious POWER! Watch this!"

To Todd's horror and amazement, Mister Eff's body dissolved into a foul lump of black jelly which grew larger as Todd watched. Slowly, the blob began to congeal into a roughly humanoid shape, finally transforming into a more human-like Doughboy the size of a large child. Mister Eff grinned up at Todd with a mouthful of needlike teeth.

"See? Pretty cool, huh?"

There was silence, and then Todd shrieked and scrambled back against the wall in terror. "HOLY FUCK! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU!"

"Well, I'm just super!" chirped Mister Eff happily. "Thanks for asking!"

D-boy, now also changed to dwarf-like being, snickered nastily. Todd noticed D-boy's new form and his mannerisms taken on a subtly more feminine aspect. "Aren't we just a precious little fairy princess?"

"What did you say, asslicker?"

Before another fight could start, Shmee cut in. "Silence! Can't you see you're scaring the boy?"

"Sorry, master." D-boy muttered, picking up Shmee and held him out to Todd.

"Suck up…" muttered Mister Eff as glared at the bear, but Shmee ignored him.

"Todd, please calm down."

"Calm down!" snapped the boy as he snatched Shmee out of D-boy's hand. "I've got talking Pillsbury Doughboys who morph into demonic midgets and you're telling me to calm down!"

"Have you got a better suggestion?" hissed Shmee.

Feeling defeated again, Todd sighed. "No. But I wish…I wish they were more…manageable."

"So be it." With a shout of protest from Mister Eff, both the doughboys dissolved into black goo again and this time reformed into small key-chain charms. "Better now?"

"Shmee, how did you do _that_?"

"Never mind that now. What's important is that you have control again." The bear sounded strangely weary. "Now, what are we to do about these—ah, _fits_ you've been having."

"Fits? What fits?"

Todd could feel Shmee glaring at him. "Don't play dumb with me, boy. I know you better than you think. Why must you insist upon acting that way?"

"What?" growled Todd, his fear fading into anger and confusion. "I thought that _you_ were doing all that crap."

"What makes you think I can do that, Squee?" Shmee rasped back coldly. "I have _never_ taken over, though I have been sorely tempted…Why do you call yourself 'Johnny' now?"

"Why don't you tell me!" Todd snapped. "You're always the one with all the fucking answers!"

"No need to be rude, Squee. I simply wish to see if you understood the implications of what is happening to you."

Todd glared. "And just what **_is_** happening to me?"

There was a significant pause from the bear, and the doughboys sniggering. When Shmee spoke again, Todd could sense he was holding back. "You're at a very delicate stage right now, Squee, and you must try to understand that there is still so much to learn first. If I were to give or expose you to too much at this point in your development, the damage may be irreversible. And I will not have you become like the _others_…"

"Others? You mean there've been more people like me?"

Shmee hesitated. "Yes, but you should concern yourself with _them_. They were all flawed, any way. Besides, I expect your results will be much better."

"Results?" sneered Todd. "You're making me sound like some kind of fucked up science project."

"In a sense, you are" laughed the bear in a tired voice. "We have much to do…but we can wait a little longer. Now, stop worrying and get some rest."

Todd waited for Shmee to say more, but the bear had lapsed into silence.

"Get some rest…" he grumbled, tossing Shmee aside as he began to pace the room. In one abrupt motion, he swept up D-boy and absently fondled the pleasantly surprised doughboy in his hand while he brooded over his life lately. He paused by the window and stared down at the house next door.

"Train wreck," he hissed as he recalled Pepito screaming at him across the yard. "Who the fuck does he think he is, barging in here like that with Rufus…"

"Damn right," agreed Mister Eff, pleased to see that Todd was now absentmindedly crushing D-boy in his fist. "What gives him to right to come into your home like he fucking owns the place? Presumptuous ass! This Pepito acts as though he owns you, like you're his pet dog. He seems to think it is his due to have you come crawling back to him with tail between your legs, eager to please. You can't tell me you like things that way, do you?"

"No," admitted Todd bitterly as he tossed D-boy aside. "I've never liked Pepito's attitude at all. He always been so arrogant, so domineering…then again, I guess I'd be that way too if I were the son of the Devil."

"That's no excuse!" Mister Eff snapped, shifting into midget-form while Todd was distracted. "You cannot keep letting him treat you like his bitch!" Hopping up onto the windowsill, he smiled at Todd with a shark-tooth grin, "Indeed, it seems high time for you to show him who the boss is now…"

Catching the hint, Todd turned away from the doughboy in quiet fury. "You bastard! Are you seriously suggesting that I rape Pepito? That's fucking _sick_."

"But you _want _to, don't you?"

"That's not the point!" roared Todd.

Mister Eff laughed, his voice slowly deepening in pitch as he whispered into Todd's ear. "Don't deny it. You hate him for the shit he's put you through. You hate Pepito for the way he treats you, the way he makes you feel helpless and stupid. The way he's always talking down to you, acting like he owns your ass. You want to make him pay for making you suffer this way. You want to make **_him_** suffer for a change…"

"Well, Pepito is a bastard most of the time…" Todd murmured darkly, not paying attention to the way Mister Eff's arms were now twined around him.

"Precisely," agreed the doughboy.

Shaking his head, Todd growled softly, "But it isn't _right_!"

"Who says it isn't?" asked Mister Eff in a dark and enticing purr. "Doesn't he _deserve_ to be taken down a peg or two?"

"Yes…" Todd agreed after a long pause.

"Then we mustn't wait any longer." Gently, the doughboy pressed the handle of a butcher knife into Todd's waiting hand. "Seize the moment, savor and immortalize it. Hurry, boy. Hurry! Don't let it slip away."

With the faintest of smiles on his face, Todd walked down stairs in a dreamy haze of anger and lust. He had barely opened the front door when a pair of gloved hands grabbed him by the front of his shirt. Before he could full register what was happening, Todd found himself dragged into the gloomy of Johnny's living room and shoved rather roughly onto a crate.

"Please forgive the abruptness, Squee, but I need some help" began Johnny as he started pacing around eerily unfocused. "Normally, I despise asking others to help me, given the tendency for such contacts to make one vulnerable to the predations of these filthy goblin people. But this has gotten too difficult for me to handle alone."

"Well, I'm flattered but I really do need to be going. Things to do, people to _kill_…" muttered Todd as he got up. He noticed that Johnny seemed not to be listening anymore. Taking advantage of his neighbor's distraction, Todd began to inching toward the door only to have Johnny catch hold of his wrist and drag him downstairs.

"Once again, I am sorry, but I'm afraid I need you. **_Badly_**."

Todd stared at Johnny in surprise and more than a little interest. "You _need_ me?"

Growling a little, Johnny yanked him forward and nearly perforated Todd's throat with finger. "God dammit! I don't mean in a _sexual_ way! It's just that there's too much shit down here for me to sort through by myself." He angrily pushed Todd toward a pile of boxes. "Now, you start over there and I'll get started on that side."

After watching Johnny root around in the seemingly endless heaps of junk for a few minutes, Todd hesitantly asked, "Um…what exactly are we looking for?"

"We already went through this!" snapped Johnny irritably as he inspected a crumpled phonebook. "Photos, old letters, and all the other accumulated detritus of the past! Anything that can shed light on my origins!"

"O-kay…" Not sure if he was going to make it out alive again, Todd resigned himself to digging through Johnny's crap and occasionally leering over at the other man when he thought Johnny wasn't looking.

In the span of a few hours, they had accumulated a decent sized pile of albums, scraps of paper, and various other snippets of personal life.

Johnny grinned down at the heap with some satisfaction. "Okay! Now, to the hard part!" He grabbed a handful of stuff and dumped it in Todd's lap. "Help me go through these and find anything that seems like me, alright?"

"Uh…"

"Thanks, Squee!" Looking obscenely cheerful, Johnny began flipping through what may have been a high school yearbook. He looked up after a moment and gave Todd a puzzled frown. "What's wrong?"

"Well," Todd started quietly. "You still haven't explained why we're doing all this."

Johnny let out an annoyed sigh. "Okay, I'll go over it again: I'm looking for stuff from my past in order to figure out how I became such a hideous example of everything which is wrong with humanity. Once I find out the secret of my gruesome and no doubt shocking origins, I can know why I am filled with the need to kill! Or, at the very least, find out why I've got all this Egyptian themed stuff in my house…"

"And then what?"

"Pardon?"

"And then what are you going to do?" Todd grumbled, looking through a stack of photos. "Are you going to stop killing and try to become a normal person? Or will you just keep on butchering practically everyone you met in the most spectacularly ghastly fashion your fevered mind can come up with, secure in the knowledge that you're completely justified in your rampages because of some horrible pantsing incident when you were in school?"

"Oh, _sure…_YAAAARGH! I HAVE BEEN PANTSED! I KILL LIKE THE DAMNED NOW!" came the sneer as Johnny hopped to his feet. He frowned down at Todd, hands on hips. "That's just not done, Squee."

Todd didn't reply and instead looked at the pictures spread out in front of him. He did a double-take. "Uh…Johnny?"

"What?" grunted Johnny as he went back to looking through the yearbook.

"Do you have a sister?"

Arching an eyebrow, he leaned toward Todd to look at the photo a flamboyantly dressed young woman. Then again, the girl was so outrageously _en femme_ that Todd wondered if this was even a 'she'. He also had a nagging feeling he'd seen her somewhere before…

"No. Well, actually, I not sure…" Johnny answered after some thought. "Why do you ask?"

"Because either this girl in the picture is your twin or…" He left off, hoping Johnny would get the point.

"Or what?"

Todd cringed at the sharpness in Johnny's voice. "Well, it might explain why you've got all those wigs and dresses. And the Jayne Country records…"

"Are you fucking serious?" hissed Johnny. "Do I look like a fucking drag queen!"

"No," Todd agreed. "But you—or _somebody_ close to you—may have been transsexual."

There was a scary moment of silence from the maniac, then he politely asked in a spooky Dracula voice, "And how did we reach this conclusion?"

"These." Todd held out a couple of letters. "I found them with the photos of Jenny."

"Who?"

"The girl in these photos," he replied, gesturing to one of stacks beside him. "I'm guess that's her name, since that's how all the letters were signed. Also, they're all addressed 'Dear John', so maybe she was your girlfriend." Todd paused, then muttered and picked up an ornate little photo album, "Then again, in these, it looks like you were married…"

"WHAT! GIVE ME THAT!" Wrenching away the album, Johnny looked through it in a mixture of revulsion and amazement. Suddenly, Johnny tossed aside the album and dragged Todd back upstairs without a word, then all but threw Todd out of the house.

Todd stood in the yard for a few moments, not sure if Johnny was going to come back out or not. Finally, he threw his hands up and went back to home, now more confused by Life, the Universe, and Everything than he had ever been before.

---

(A/N: Well, that was relatively random. Explanations for the reappearance of Jimmy and Johnny's origins may be forthcoming. Then again, why should I annoy you with contrived and hideous convoluted origin stories anyway? You're mostly waiting for the smut. evil grinning On another note, there's really not going to be a single pairing in here since the emphasis will be on conflicts of identity... mainly Squee's own breakdown as a person. more evil grinning Boy, this note has turned out to be rather pointless, hasn't it?)


	6. Chapter 5: SelfHarmer Alarmer

**Chapter 5:** **Self-Harmer Alarmer**

"_You're bringing on the heartbreak…"  
"**Bingin' on the Heartbreak", Def Leppard**_

"This can't be happening…" mumbled Todd, lifting the knife to take a closer look at his battered face. Closing his eyes, he began to laugh quietly. "This can't be fucking happening."

The laughter grew in volume as Todd turned toward the shattered mirror. When he took a step forward, he almost tripped on the vampire's carcass. The laughter stopped abruptly and he looked down at it.

"Why did you do it?" Todd asked it quietly, squatting down next to the vampire with a puzzled expression on his face. "What was the point? Was it all out of spite?" He paused as if to give it a chance to reply then shook his head. "No. That doesn't make sense. If you wanted to spite Jimmy, why not just tell him I was dead? Oh, right! I forgot he was a necrophile too." Another pause. This time, Todd smiled nastily. "How did I know? Simple. The coroner told us…he told us in _graphic_ detail exactly what the bastard did to _our_ Johnny before and after he died. Isn't that shitty?"

The vampire only stared up at the ceiling with empty black sockets.

Todd nodded his head like it had answered. "Good point, but it still doesn't make sense! What _motive_ did you have to do it? Why not just kill me yourself? Did you think I ever really had a _choice_?" Again, he began to laugh.

"I'm being rude, aren't I?" he giggled. "Here I go, off on another rant without as much as a proper introduction! Let us remedy that, shall we?" Todd playfully shook the vampire's mummified hand. "I'm Todd Casil…for now. What's your name?"

When the vampire said nothing, Todd began digging through the vampire's pockets. He pulled out a wallet and idly flipped it open. "Well, no wonder you can't answer! Look at all these names! Helena, Miranda, Lolita, Mariah, Alicia, Rachel… you've been so many people, I bet you've forgotten which was the **REAL** you!"

Abruptly, his mood shifted to a strange sadness. "I can relate. I've been so many people lately, I wonder if there is a Todd Casil is real. Does he even exist anymore?" He shrugged in defeat. "Aw, fuck it! You don't care. You're dead! Well, dead _again_… So it doesn't really matter to you how fucked up my life keeps getting or what I'm going to do next."

Todd shivered, now acutely aware of how cold the room had become. "What am I going …

…to do now?" hissed Johnny, glaring at the things spread out before him. He'd spent the last few days ransacking the house and succeeded in gathering an array of pictures, letters, and the other detritus of the past he was desperate to uncover. In fact, judging from the sheer amount of stuff he'd sort through, it looked as if Johnny had enough evidence to prove he was a rather (_in_)famous New Wave artist with a coke-head trophy wife, the Black Dahlia killer, a heroin addicted transsexual hooker, Jack the Ripper, the front man of an obscure '70s punk band, an infamous voodoo bokor, and apparently the Cleveland Torso Murderer.

"This is insane! Just fucking crazy!" Johnny snarled as he got to his feet and started pacing again. "How can it even be physically possible?! All this stuff is apparently mine, but it can't be mine! It's just fucking impossible! Simply impossible! I can't have been all these people...could I?"

"Silly, silly questions from a silly, silly boy," chuckled Reverend Meat.

Johnny turned to glare at the Burger Boy, chipped and looking trashier than ever after Johnny's attempts to 'fix' him. He was about to snarl something nasty in reply but a thought bubbled up from that cesspool just north the eyebrows. "You were here before, right?"

"Before what?"

"Before I forgot me and became a raving lunatic," Johnny muttered. "It was you and Nailbunny before, wasn't it?"

"No. You were _always _a raving lunatic." The Reverend sighed. "It was me and _Pscyhodoughboy_ before. The bunny came a little later."

"Yeah, well D-boy isn't talking to me anymore and Nailbunny knows what I was like before all this, so let us include him, shall we?" Johnny paused, and then added, "He's always been much more honest than all of you yeasty little fuckers anyway."

"I'm hurt that you still think of me as one of those wretched delusions," muttered the Reverend.

Ignoring the Burger Boy, he tried to focus on the idea before it slipped back into the quagmire of his mind. "I'm trying to figure it out. Think this through logically. You see, I thought that if I found something—a picture or note or some other crappy cliché like that—I thought that maybe it'd trigger some memory. But, as you can observe, it's only lead me to a myriad of dead-ends and even more confusion. Or has it? Maybe, just maybe you…"

"Could tell you what you were like **_before_**?" finished the Reverend. He chuckled. "Oh, I don't think you'll like yourself very much if you met the **_old _**Johnny…"

"I've **_never_** liked myself. Besides, that's not exactly what I want from you." Johnny groaned miserably, not sure how to phrase the jumbled thoughts in his head. "It…it would be easy just to let you tell me what I used to be like, but there's the problem. I…I can't trust you to tell me the whole truth. I can't trust you not to twist the facts around to manipulate me…"

"And you think the bunny won't do the same?" came the hiss. "He lies just as much as I do! That veriminious creature **_hates_** you for what you've done!"

Johnny thought for a moment. "Well, yeah. I guess I'd be a little upset too if somebody drove a nail through my body…"

At this, the Reverend began laughing. "Is that it? You think the Bunny was just a simple petshop rabbit?! Fool! The animal you killed was simply an effigy! It was the Wicker Man, the symbol! A sacrifice of those parts you tried to burn away so long ago…"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You know **_nothing_** about yourself," sneered the Reverend in glee. "Completely unaware of all the **_things_** you did…"

"Stop with the cryptic bullshit already!" Johnny snapped. "All I want to know what I was like before all…all of THIS! I want to know about when I wasn't such a fucked up train wreck of insanity!"

"Train wreck? A fitting choice of metaphors…"

"It sums it up my life at this point quite nicely," snarled the maniac.

"Oh, yes indeed it does," agreed the Reverend. "Train wreck fits you both better than either of you think…"

"Both? Either?" Now there was a creeping sense of confusion into Johnny's anger. "What do you mean 'both'? There's only me! Okay, so there's also you and Nailbunny, too…but you're technically voices in my head, so you don't really count. Do you? Can you consider the voices in somebody's head as other people?"

"A good question, but that's getting us off-topic."

Johnny clawed the sides of his head, forcing himself to concentrate again. His brains were starting to ach from the effort… "But why use 'both', then? Why not the singular, unless we're including someone else in all this shit?"

"But I **_am_** including someone else in our…_discussion_. I—or maybe we should say **_you_**—have included Todd."

"Who? Oh! Right. That is Squee-gee's name, isn't it? Still like Squee better. It fits him better, you know, with all the squeaking and the screaming…" Something clicked for Johnny and he rounded on the Burger Boy in a fit of Conan-style rage. "LEAVE HIM THE FUCK OUT OF THIS, YOU MEATY BASTARD!"

"Defensive, aren't we?"

"I am not being defensive!" Johnny shouted. "Squee hasn't got nothing to do with this!"

"Double-negatives simply prove my point," hissed the Reverend. "It still surprises me how ignorant you are to the little things around you, Johnny. Then again, given your irrational and frankly self-defeating desire to kill off all emotion within yourself, it could only be expected that you wouldn't notice them in others…"

There was a strained silence from the maniac as he stared perplexed at the Burger Boy.

"It's so painfully obvious, Johnny…" continued the Reverend in a cheery tone. "After all, who was it the boy came running to after he first killed? Not to his 'friends' or the police. And certainly not to his parents! No, no. He comes running to **_you_**, Johnny."

"So what? That doesn't mean anything…"

"Yes it does, and you **_know _**it!" snapped the Reverend. "And you know exactly why you keep going to the boy."

"You're full of shit." Johnny growled with a disgusted snort. His headache had grown into quite a lovely little migraine. "Squee is a friend of mine." He paused. "Actually, I think he's my _only_ friend."

"Friend? Oh, I very much doubt he's wants to be **_friends_** with you…"

Johnny frowned. "Yeah… I wouldn't want to be my friend either."

There was a groan of frustration from the Burger Boy. "That's not what I was getting at, Johnny."

Grinding his teeth from the pain-fueled rage slowly building up, Johnny glared down the Reverend when it finally dawned on him what was being hinted at. "That's just _sick_…"

"That all depends on your point of view," the Reverend murmured. "True, it is criminal given the difference in your ages…But then again, why should you worry about getting caught? It's not like you haven't gotten away with worse…"

"It's just _sick_," repeated the maniac quietly. "He's still a child, for Christ's sake! A CHILD!"

"Is he?"

The question landed on Johnny like a lead brick in a mud. For the first time since intruding on his neighbor's life, Johnny found his fickle brain turn to examining his relationship with Squee in the most uncomfortably meticulous way. He'd always thought of the boy as being a poor little innocent he wanted keep safe from things like…well, like _him_ actually. Always felt that way and always would. But somewhere along the line, there had been a **_change_**. And now, to his own chagrin, Johnny realized something he'd been missing for _years_…

His cute little Squee wasn't so little anymore.

When the hell did it happen? Johnny couldn't say, but it was finally hitting home for him just how much Squee'd changed. There used to be a time when Johnny would catch glimpses of the little guy riding his tricycle around and eating frooty-pops with that linty bastard bear of his, cringing or screaming at the slightest scare. And now? Now Squee was smoking and drinking and lashing out at practically everyone who got too close. Hell! The boy even went off and slaughtered some asshole just like Johnny would've done.

Of course, it was to be expected. After all the years of being bullied, shunt, and tormented by his classmates, Squee had every right to be pissed. It just saddened Johnny to think that such human garbage could drive such a sweet little boy to become something as nasty and vicious as he was. And yet, as disillusioning as it was to realize his little Squee had succumbed to such disgusting excesses of adolescence, at least Johnny took some small solace that this may all just be a phase. It wasn't as if the boy had given in to that other, more repulsive urge.

Had he?

Chewing on the knuckles of his hand, Johnny squirmed uncomfortably.

Sex was a subject he'd always loathed to contemplate and the very idea of Squee engaging in such bestial activities utterly appalled him. In fact, Johnny could hardly even bring himself to see the boy as a sexualized thing. He'd always been little Squee-gee, the neighbor child. Adorable and always so apologetically sweet…And a wholly **_asexual_** entity.

Then again, even Johnny had to admit the boy had grown quite handsome. He had that slender athletic body, the type of youthful figure that could have inspired Donatello or Verrocchio (1). Yet Johnny would never accuse the boy of being a narcissistic bastard. In fact, when he gave it some thought, he doubted that Squee was even aware of just how attractive he was. The boy was frankly too naïve to notice.

It was the combination such a natural beauty with his innocence and generally inoffensive demeanor which made Squee the kind of boy that brought out all the protective and predatory instincts in people. Which was _exactly_ the reason why Johnny had taken it upon himself to do his best to shelter the boy from the human vermin out there waiting… waiting to take advantage of and abuse just such a lovely and helpless little creature.

But, as disgusting the thought was, there was something monstrously delicious about corrupting such an innocent, beautiful thing… And that led to some rather unexpected and disturbingly arousing mental images of the boy. After all, why was he so eager about keeping Squee safe and **_pure_**? Was it really about saving the boy _from_ himself? Or was he saving Squee _for_ himself?

"Argh!" growling and gnawing his hand in frustration, Johnny tried to suppress those thoughts. It was getting harder to reconcile these strange new feelings. Then again, maybe he'd always had them. Whatever possessed him to keep intruding on the boy's life, anyway? Was it out of some twisted sense of duty? Did he do it because Squee was a friend? Then again, he never wanted to friends, because friends always left him. Besides, such affections left you open to those horrible goblin people… It was also clear even to Johnny own muddled self that it might be for the best if he stopped visiting Squee. So what kept him going back?

Did he really want to…to do… _things_ to the boy?

Johnny groaned miserably, chomping away at the flesh of his hand.

He wasn't sure what to do next. Should he ignore it? Hopefully, those feelings would just go away if he didn't think about them! Or maybe he ought to go out for a little while, like to a club, so he could _express_ his unique opinion on humanity's superficial morals and it's obsession with hyper-sexualized behavior. Of course that would only be displacing his own anxieties and loathing onto people who, while shallow and very likely deserving of whatever gruesome fate Johnny decided for them, really weren't the problem this time. But on the other hand, violence against those petty maggots was the only acceptable outlet for such an upsurge of stomach-turning emotion. If he wasn't' going to partake in ridiculously graphic violence towards the assholes, then what would he for release?

"Go ahead," rasped the Reverend. "Give in."

"Give in to what?" Johnny snapped, his words muffled slightly by the hand he was still gnawing on. God, his head felt like it was going to burst…

"Don't play dumb, boy. It's not working." The Reverend seemed to swell with glee. "Now, do you know what I suggest you do to relieve yourself, Johnny?"

Pulling his hand out his mouth, Johnny frowned at the bloody, slobbery mess his knuckles had become. "Fuck."

"Exactly."

With a hiss, he swatted the Burger Boy off the couch and stormed out of the house with the completely _innocent_, utterly **_wholesome_**, and absolutely **_chaste_** intention of seeing if Squee had any bandages. And maybe something for the migraine, too.

Deciding that the quickest way to the boy was by his window, Johnny cut across the strip of lawn between their homes and climbed up the conveniently placed trellis with a total disregard for the now very lushly overgrown roses twining almost up to the roof. It was only when he tried to get inside that Johnny finally realized a couple of things.

First, someone had finally put up blinds and curtains over Squee's bedroom window, making it impossible to look in on the boy, much to Johnny's annoyance. Not that he had **_any_ **intention of perversity towards his younger neighbor. It was just a little troubling not being able to get Squee's attention. But he doubted that do much good, since the second thing that he noticed was not only had the mysterious someone nailed the window shut in an almost obsessive manner, they'd also taken it upon themselves to place heavy-duty iron bars over each and every window of the house.

Johnny grumbled a bit as he climbed down, but was undaunted by such a hostile display of resistance, mainly because he needed those bandages even more now since the damn thorns had dug into his hands, face, and other tender regions…

Somewhat out of curiosity, he tried the front door and then the back. His irritation grew worse along with that fucking migraine when he discovered both were firmly locked and dead-bolted to a freakish degree. Johnny was about to give up and go find a street mime to take his mounting frustrations out on when a flicker of light caught his attention. Getting down on the ground, he peered through the grimy basement window, noting vaguely that it was sealed up and barred the same as Squee's.

There was a man shillouetted in the dull glow of a flood light as he bolted down a reinforced steel hatch over the tunnel to Johnny's house. Satisfied that it was securely locked, he stood and began hopping gleefully up and down on the hatch.

"I'd like to see that fucker get in now!" cackled the man—who Johnny assumed was Squee's father, because that _definitely_ didn't sound like Squee. And he'd never heard that much anger in the boy's voice before…

"From now on," continued Squee's shadowy parent. "Things are going to be on **_my_** terms, not **_his_**! Understand?"

There was a pause, and Johnny strained to catch the mumbled reply over the blaring music. Apparently, Squee was down there too, although Johnny couldn't see him in the gloom. And, judging by the grimace on the man's obscured face, the answer didn't set well with his dad.

"SHUT UP! I sick of you parasites!" came the scream as the man whipped around, thrusting an angry finger toward his unseen companion. "That's exactly what you both are: **_PARASITES_**! And I've had it with living like this, you son of a bitch!"

Johnny felt his painfully sensitive Asshole Sense blaze into overdrive, and that longstanding righteous fury against the bastard that fathered his helpless neighbor frothed up from the depths to further stoke his migraine-induced rage. Oh, he was dying to **_express_** his displeasure over this rampant negligence and abuse…

In another series of mumblings, it appeared that Squee was trying to appease his hateful parent, but it was only making the situation worse.

"I told you to shut up!" the man screamed again, this time brandishing something at the boy. "And get the hell outside of my sight before I smash your fucking head in!"

There was a funny sort of sound, like locusts chittering, and what may have been a faint yet defiant protest from little Squee.

With a snarl, the man lunged forward.

Seized by the fury and fearing for the boy's life, Johnny found himself rushing the back door. It gave way after a few hits and Johnny was down the basement stairs, lunging without a moment's hesitation. His brain didn't have time to register that something was horribly out of place before blind instinct kicked in and he slammed the man up against the far wall, pressing a knife into his throat with uncanny speed.

"God damn piece of shit! I should have killed you years ago! Beating a defenseless—" Johnny's rage-fueled rant was cut short by a left-hook to the jaw that sent him crashing to the floor. A kick to the ribs flipped him onto his back, making it easy for the man to grind the metal points of his boot into Johnny's neck

"…Squee?"

The boy froze, his arm drawn back to club his uninvited guest with a length of lead pipe. He lowered the pipe slowly, shaking and glaring down at Johnny with a mixture of shock and horror on his face. "How did you get in here? How the fuck did you get in?! I locked everything! I nailed everything shut! Bars on the windows… Booby-trapped the tunnel… Nothing could get in now… Nothing _human…_ _How did you get in?_"

"I…broke…choke! broke down door…to save you!" wheezed Johnny as Squee continued crushing his windpipe underfoot. He gasped with relief when the boy jerked his foot away, taking a moment to regain his breath before staggering to his feet. "I was only trying to protect you…"

"Protect me?! What the fuck is wrong with you! You were going to kill me!"

Johnny flinched, rubbing his throat. "I… I'm sorry. It sounded like… like your father was going to…"

"My father," hissed Squee, suddenly going cold. "Hasn't been home for over a month now."

"I'm sorry…"

"No you're not. And, frankly, neither am I."

"Squee! He's your father—"

"And you were going to kill him." The indifferent way Squee stated it made Johnny redden with shame.

"I thought he was—"

"Beating me?" Squee lowered his gaze, laughed quietly. It was a bitter and jagged sound that made Johnny squirm even more. "Let me explain something to you, _Johnny_: My father hates me. He hates me so much that he absolutely refused to touch me. He hated having **_ANY_** form of contact with me. That man would never even risk brushing up against me by accident in the hallway, let alone land a fucking punch. After all, why beat your children when emotional abuse does much more lasting damage? And it doesn't leave those troublesome bruises or belt marks…"

"Squee…" Johnny lightly touched his shoulder.

The boy's head snapped up and he glared at Johnny, jerking away. "Leave me alone."

"I just wanted to apologize."

"Don't bother. I don't care."

In a sudden motion, Johnny moved forward and pulled Squee into a bone-crushing hug. He felt the boy tense up at the contact then Squee slowly relax as he wrapped his arms around Johnny's shoulders. They stayed like that for quite a long time and Johnny couldn't help noticing how nice Squee smelt. True, the boy was rather sweaty but it only added a kind of saltiness to the candy sweet scent that made Johnny think of a certain caramel-coated popcorn snack with the prize inside. Burying his face against the boy's chest, he greedily inhaled that mouth-watering aroma and found himself wondering if Squee would _taste_ just as good…

With a growl, Johnny started to push the boy away only to have Squee's hold tighten.

"What do you want, Johnny?" asked Squee in a tired and sweet voice.

Trying hard to think **_pure_**, Johnny mumbled something into Squee's collarbone about bandages.

"…mm?"

"Bandages…" he grumbled, putting a healthy distance between himself and Squee when the boy loosened his grip. Johnny held up his bloodied hand. "See? Don't worry. It's all mine this time. I was chewing on my hand and sort of tore it open a little… Oh! There was that fucking rosebush, too…"

Squee looked concern. "Why the hell were you chewing on you hands?"

"I do that sometimes," Johnny mumbling as he looked down at his feet in embarrassment. "When I get nervous…"

Squee started to ask something more, but only sighed and pointed toward the basement sink. "Sit down over there. It'll be easier to see what I'm doing. I'll be right back with the first aid kit." With that, the boy disappeared upstairs.

Johnny stood there a moment, then shuffled dutifully to the sink and perched himself on the washer next to it. He kicked his heels while he waited, childishly enjoying each loud thump when his feet would hit the metal. Idly, he started humming to the tune playing on the radio and soon was singing merrily along.

"I don't wanna touch you too much, baby… 'cause making love to you might drive me crazy…" echoed through the basement as Johnny began crooning loudly. "Love BITES! Love _BLEEDS_! It's bringin' me to my knees! Love LIVES! Love _DIES_! It's no surprise… Love _begs, _love _PLEADS…_It's what I need…"

"Johnny?"

With a snarl, Johnny turned and glared at the boy who was giving him the strangest look. "What?"

Arching an eyebrow, Squee sat the first aid kit next to Johnny. "Def Leppard?"

"So? I happen to _like_ that song…"

"Mister Scary Neighbor Man, singing along to cheesy power ballads?" muttered Squee, smirking and shaking his head. "Never thought you'd do something so… well, _normal._"

"What's wrong with that?" came the hiss as Johnny shifted to that spooky quiet voice.

"Nothing! Nothing at all!" yelped Squee, quickly moving out of striking distance. "By the way, you had such a pretty voice…" he added hesitantly.

Getting even more flushed, Johnny wasn't sure how to react. He just stared at the boy blankly. "Uh, thank you?"

"Welcome…" Still wary, the boy came closer and got out some bandages and antiseptic. He started to reach for Johnny's injured hand only to have the maniac jerk it away. "Johnny, I need to look at your hand…"

"I can do this myself. Just give me the bandages and…"

"Johnny…" Giving him an unnaturally stern look, Squee took hold of Johnny's hand and inspected it. "Oh dear God… What the hell where you doing? _Eating yourself?_"

"No." Johnny thought a moment. "Well, not on purpose…"

Squee reached for a disinfectant wipe to clean out the grime. "Jesus…" Wincing at the sight, he tossed the gory wipe away and looked up at his neighbor. "It's awfully deep, Johnny. Maybe I should get you to the hospital…"

"No! No hospitals!" snapped the maniac with a panicked look in his eyes. "I fucking hate hospitals! God knows what those bastards will do when they get you all alone in those examining rooms… Besides," he added gruffly. "You didn't go after that T.V. thing."

"That's different," Squee grumbled. "I honestly didn't want to explain what happened. It would've been a nightmare! I've never hear the end of it from Norma-Jean and Polly."

"Who?"

"They're nurses in the ER," the boy mumbled sheepishly. "I've been to the fucking emergency room so often I'm on a first name basis with the entire staff and half the damn hospital …"

"Why?" There was the faintest rumble of alarm in Johnny's voice.

"It's my mom. She…she forgets sometimes how many pills she's taken and then she overdoses…"

"Squee…"

"Don't start," hissed the boy as he reached for a needle and some sterile thread. "I've already heard it from Norma-Jean and the rest of them. Do you have any idea what it's like, watching you're mother dragged out of the house by the paramedics almost every other week?" he snarled, sticking the threaded needle thorough Johnny's skin as he started stitching the wound close. "And the _looks _they give you… The fucking _pity_… It's humiliating! Do you know what it's like to hear people whispering behind your back? Talking about Child Protective Services? Hell! The fucking coroner has even asked me to move in with him! The **_coroner_**!" Squee paused. "Of course, he does flirt with me every time I'm down there and keeps asking me out to dinner. Maybe he's just trying to be friendly, but I'm beginning to suspect he might a crush on me."

"What's his name?" Johnny rasped. There was something about finding out some dirty old fuck was making passes at Squee that not only made him inexplicably furious but also hurt in the strangest way. Well, as soon as his hand was bandaged up, he was going to fix that…

"Don't you _dare_…,"Squee snarled back, as if reading Johnny's mind. "Dr. Vargas is a very kind man, and I won't let you carve him up like you do everybody else you meet!"

Johnny blinked in surprise, vaguely recalling something that happened years ago. "Vargas?"

"Yes," the boy sighed, going back to stitching Johnny's hand. "He's name is Edgar Vargas. Johnny, please promise me you'll leave him alone. He's one of the few people who are actually nice to me…"

"Um, I can't do that Squee…"

Almost ripping out the final stitch with a jerk, the boy stared at him in horror. "Oh God! You didn't…"

"Don't give me that look. I killed him a _loooooooong_ time ago... It's a funny story, really," Johnny chuckled guiltily. " A couple years back I was looking for one of those annoying street performers—you know, the kind that impersonates robots and makes those annoying _wheezy _whistling noises… But I couldn't find any and I was getting pretty desperate since I hadn't painted the _wall_ for a while… Then I saw this guy standing all by himself by this scenic overlook, holding a gun against his head kind like he was gonna shoot himself… So I stun-gunned him and took him home to drain his blood for the _wall_. Well, to make a long story short, we got to talking and Edgar turned out to such a nice guy I felt awful about having to kill him, but like I said, I really, really, _really_ had to paint the _wall_ or the monster would get loose. He was so nice that I even took his body—well, what was _left_ of it— up to those woods by the lake and buried it in a nice, quiet little place that had this fantastic view of the stars!"

Squee stared at him for several awkward seconds. "Johnny, did you happen to have buried him near those houses up there?"

"Well… I did kind of leave him in some lady's backyard and she ran me off with a fire-extinguisher… But, GOD! the view! The view was _perfect_, Squee! Absolutely **_PERFECT_**!"

"You buried him in Rufus' backyard?!" Squee barked.

"Who's Rufus? Is he a friend of yours too?"

"Well, yes, _she_ is," grumbled the boy. "She also happens to be the Second Coming of Christ!"

"Oh…" Johnny considered it for a moment. "So…that means Edgar's not a zombie?"

"No. He's _not._"

"Aw, that sucks. He'd have made a really cool zombie…"

Squee stared at him, mouth gapping. Finally, he pulled himself together enough to glare at his murderous neighbor. "Only you! Only _you _could be such an utter fucker to pull shit like that! All this murder! The senseless fucking carnage! It's like you're looking for a fucking excuse to butcher someone! Most of the time you're just grabbing victims at random! God damn you, Johnny! Why the hell do you have to keep killing?!"

"I dunno…" Johnny mumbled, and then angrily growled. "And I don't always kill people at random! I've usually got a good reason!"

"Like what, huh? Because they were being assholes to you? 'Oh noes! The nasty peoples are being mean to me again, so I must kills them!' You're always acting like you're the fucking victim! And for what?! Because they just piss you off?!" sneered Squee.

"Because some people deserve to die!" snapped Johnny. "Like that sick motherfucker who tried to molest you…"

There was a pause. Then the boy asked quietly, "Why did you do that?"

"Because…" Johnny stammered. "Because I want to protect you, Squee!"

"I never asked you to," snarled Squee.

"You never had to. I did it because I _wanted_ to. Because I _owe_ it to you… I want to keep you safe, Squee."

"Safe? Safe from _what_?" the boy squawked, his pitch warbling between a squeak and a roar.

"From those filthy, nasty, horrible goblin-people that want to hurt you…"

"Then who's keeping me safe from _you_?!"

Johnny looked down at the floor, completely at a loss. There was an unpleasantly heavy lump forming in his chest and he had the nastiest taste in his mouth, like he was about to vomit. It hurt to hear it, but the boy was right in a way. Who was going to protect poor little Squee if Johnny couldn't even trust himself anymore? It was devastatingly clear to him that there was always a chance he'd turn on the boy like a badly trained pit-bull. Either he'd kill to boy outright in a fit of rage or he'd…he'd…

"Are…are you okay Johnny?" Squee asked quietly, his fingers grazing Johnny's cheek.

"I'm _fine_," the maniac snarled and shoved the boy's hand away when Squee tried to wipe away the tears. He hadn't even realized he'd been crying.

"Johnny, please…" Gently, Squee reached out again and cupped Johnny's chin in his hand. "Look at me."

Unable to resist, he let the boy tip his face up and suddenly found himself caught up in that sad, beautiful face.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you," Squee murmured softly. "There's been so much shit happen to me lately that it's… it's getting to me. I'm sorry to take it out on you, Johnny. You didn't deserve it. And you can't help how you are, can you? You mean well, even if you do scare the living shit out of me…"

Squee went quiet again, then muttered, "I've been a real bastard lately, haven't I?"

"You're not a bastard," Johnny whispered, leaning in closer to the boy.

"Yes I am," he sighed, moving closer as well. "I've turned into a royal asshole…"

"That's not true! You're just going through some fucked up shit right now. Not having a dad around can really fuck anyone up… They say that boys your age need a strong father figure. Or at least a positive male role model, maybe an older brother…"

Now there was barely any space between them, their lips almost touching.

Sliding his arms around the other man's neck, Squee smiled. "Johnny, I…"

"KRASSHUCK!!!! SQUEAL! various other breaking sounds"

"…dammit," hissed Squee as he rushed upstairs. Johnny followed quickly behind and walked in on the boy right as he was grabbing something out of the mess of cans and broken jars spilt out on the kitchen floor. Something that looked suspiciously like a certain pastry mascot…

"What's that?" Johnny asked, pointing at the Doughboy.

"This? Oh! It's nothing! Just a…a…" the boy stammered for a moment, the slumped in defeat. "Oh hell, even you won't believe me if I told you the truth…"

"Mister Eff?" rasped Johnny, snatching the Styrofoam monstrosity away from Squee. He glared death at the blandly smiling doughboy. "You little shit! What the hell are you doing here?! And what the fuck have you done to Squee?! ANSWER ME, GOD DAMMIT!"

Squee shook his head. "That's not going to work. See, they won't talk or move around if there are other people here…"

"Well in this fucker's case, I'll make an exception!" shrieked Mister Eff before he sank his fangs into Johnny's arm. After having several large chunks of his flesh chomped out, the maniac finally flung Mister Eff into the sink.

"MOTHERFUCKER!" Whipping out his knife, Johnny moved toward the sink.

"What you gonna do, BITCH?" jeered the Doughboy, defiantly flipping him off. "**_Kill me_**?!"

Johnny reared back to stab the laughing little beastie, but stopped mid-swing when something else caught his eye.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," hissed Mister Eff. "I knew you'd pussy out again, just like you did with De—"

Smiling an evil little smile, Johnny reached over and turned on the garbage disposal. That smiled kept widening as he listened to Mister Eff scream in agony when he was sucked down into the disposal. An ungodly wail reverberated through the whole neighborhood as the doughboy was ground into a slimy paste of Styrofoam and blackish gunk. When the last little bits had gone, Johnny turned to his stunned neighbor.

"Where's D-boy?"

The boy only gave him the thousand yard stare.

Alarmed, Johnny grabbed Squee and shook him violently. "SNAP OUT OF IT! We have to find the **_other_** one..."

"Why?" whispered Squee, his voice shaky and weird.

"So I can kill him too."

A change came over the boy. His face went dark with rage. "No..."

"Huh?"

Much to Johnny's surprise, the boy dragged him suddenly to the back door and flung him out into the yard. Recovering quickly, Johnny got to his feet and ran toward the door, only to have Squee slam it shut in his face.

"LET ME IN!" he roared, pounding on the door in frantic desperation. "SQUEE, PLEASE! LET ME IN!"

"Go away…" whimpered the boy.

"GOD DAMMIT! THOSE THING'S ARE **_EVIL_**, SQUEE!" Johnny screamed. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND? **_EVIL_**! THEY'LL CORRUPT YOU! THEY'LL MAKE INTO A MONSTER, JUST LIKE THEY DID—"

Johnny's startling revelation was cut short by another unexpected application of violence, this time in the form of a heavily modified stun-gun to the base of his neck. Before he slipped into unconsciousness, Johnny found himself staring up into the morbidly gleeful face of the new D-boy.

"I've wanted to do that for _years_…"

--------------------------------------------------------------------

(1) David and Verrocchio were Renaissance sculptors who produced a _David_. To learn more, just Google it or visit Wikipedia.


	7. Chapter 6: Donnie Darko's Tracksuit

**Chapter 6: Wearing Donnie Darko's Tracksuit**

"_And in my darkest moment, fetal and weepin'  
The moon tells me a secret, my confidant  
As full and bright as I am, this light is not my own and  
A million light reflections pass over me"  
**"Reflection", Tool**_

"Now Todd," began Mr. Balzac in a somber drone that could put Ben Stein to shame. "I can understand that you have been under a lot of stress lately due to the situation with your parents. It's always emotionally difficult for a young person during a divorce…"

"My parents aren't getting divorced!" Todd snapped then looked down, mortified. "My dad just moved out because he got offered a better-paying job in New York."

"Of course he did… Still, that doesn't excuse your behavior. Your _permanent record_ is filled with instances of extensive truancy, a marked lack of interest in activities suitable for your age-group, and even outright rebellious behavior. You've been lashing out verbally against the established traditions of this school and blatantly refuse to fit in with your peers. You even alleged assaulted a fellow student. Such naked aggression and rebellion is unacceptable."

"But I'm not rebellious!" barked Todd. "And I don't want to be hostile toward everybody. Every time I try to be friendly to the other kids, it only ends up getting me hurt. They're always pushing me. They've shun me, Mr. Balzac. They all treat me like I'm some kind of leper. It's as if all the normal people hate me…."

"Now Todd," Leaning forward, Mr. Balzac tried to look sympathetic but it came across more apathetic and condescending as he continued. "It's not good to blame others. You need to learn to take responsibility for your actions."

"I understand that but…"

With a sigh, Mr. Balzac sat back in his chair and frowned. "No, Todd. I'm afraid you don't understand. Not only is your behavior affecting you socially, it's also having a negative affect on your grades. Now we both know you never were a perfect student and we never expected you to be. And even though you passed the NJASK, you don't seem to be applying yourself enough to the standardized national curriculum. In fact Todd, according to the results from the Basic Ultimate Learning and Logic Standard for Human Intelligence Test for grade 8, your academic performance thus far is so average that we've pretty much given up on you ever improving yourself scholastically."

"But I'm doing pretty well in Art and English…" muttered Todd defensively. "Ms. Honey once said that I was the most gifted writer she'd ever read. And in shop class, Mr. Savage was really impressed with the special effects I did for the Theatre Club. Oh sure, I don't do so hot on those BULLSHIT tests we have to take every year, but if I'm doing so badly then why do a lot of teachers keep telling me that the essays I turn in and my comments are creative and exceptionally intelligent? My history teach even suggested I look into getting placed in college level courses."

Mr. Balzac frowned even more. "Intelligence is not the goal of education. We're not here to teach you how to be innovative or to give you an in-depth knowledge of the subject matter. In fact, we actively discourage critical pedagogy in the classroom. Smart people are dangerous. They ask questions. They point out flaws. They are not easily controlled. This is why we actively encourage stupidity in the masses so that we can control them. What you're supposed to learn in school is how to conform and not disrupt the status quo with such treacherous things as originality or social consciousness or free thought."

All Todd could do was stare for a long time, shocked at this revelation. "But… But what about personal growth? And fulfillment? What about what's best for future generations?!"

"Now Todd, there's no use arguing," chided Mr. Balzac. "I am a trained professional. And I know what's best for you."

Todd said nothing. The despair for both his own future and the futures of countless other poor unfortunate souls weighed heavily upon him. It was as if the POWERS THAT BE were actively creating the very morons that will send the whole world spiraling into the inescapable Apocalypse to come. He sat there wrapped up in his gloomy thoughts while the guidance counselor droned on without really listening to anymore, staring at the morning sunlight as it glinted off the tips of his boots and threw long shadows from the blinds across the carpet. It made the nubby fibers glow a dull rusty color. Like streaks of blood…

"…Todd?"

He jerked his head up and stared at Mr. Balzac. "Yes?"

"Excellent! I'll tell Ms. Bulldike that you'll be there after school then."

"Whoa! Be where for what?" asked Todd, more than a little frightened.

"At the gym for the Track Team tryouts," Mr. Balzac stated flatly. He was almost smiling now. "It's was Ms. Bulldik's idea, really. Athletics are a prefect way to channel your aggression and teach you **_discipline_**. Maybe being around so many jocks will finally show you that creativity and intelligence are actually unimportant in life. It may also improve your social skills."

Todd started to say something back, to argue that sending him to those tryouts was akin to throwing a wounded rabbit to a pack of starved rabid wolves, but what was the point? From his past encounters with Mr. Balzac, Todd knew that it was useless to try reasoning with the man. And with Ms. Bulldike add to the mix, there was no way in heaven or hell he was going to get out of going to Track tryouts.

He slumped in defeat. "Okay, Mr. Balzac… I'll be there."

"Now Todd, that's good to hear." Getting up, Mr. Balzac walked him to the door. "You run along to class now, and don't forget: Tryouts start at 3:45 this afternoon."

"Yeah, sure…"

Todd felt vaguely sick as he trudged to his locker. He'd had a nasty headache ever since Johnny threw him out last night, but maybe it was just from lack of sleep. Not that he could've have slept, anyway. First there was Mister Eff, who decided to start in on him about "pussying out" and acting like a "faggot" the second Todd got back to his room. And things only got worse when the doughboys got hold of the pictures of Jenny he'd snuck out of Johnny's house. Given what little he knew about the doughboys, Todd never expected D-boy to react so violently, and he wasn't sure who'd been shocked by the outburst more, himself or Mister Eff. It took Shmee butting in before D-boy calmed down enough to stop choking him…

Wincing, Todd fingered the bruises on his neck as he remembered the look on D-boy's face. He'd seen that look once before, when he was little standing in the alleyway behind the mall. It was the same look Johnny had right before he went off on yet another one of his psychotic tirades as he tore apart the creepy man in the Scumby shirt. Todd never quite recovered from that encounter, even though he had comet to realize that maybe Johnny might have saved him from being molested by some sick fuck. And it wasn't just the fact that he'd witnessed a brutal murder, either. It had to do with Johnny's uncanny ability to just appear out of nowhere and invade his life, starting with the night they met.

Like Johnny just 'conveniently' deciding to do some "_expressing"_ at the mall that day… Or the time Todd was riding his tricycle around and almost been crushed by a mutilated corpse Johnny chucked out the window. And all the times Johnny would sneak into Todd's bedroom to tell him bedtime stories that left the boy deeply traumatized. When Todd was committed, he was actually glad that he'd never have to see Johnny again and then who just happened turned up at the very same insane asylum Todd was sent to…

No matter where Todd went, Johnny would follow. And it was really scaring the hell out of him.

"Fucking bastard…" he hissed aloud.

"I take it things didn't go well with Mr. Balzac…"

Todd yelped and rounded on Rufus. "SHIT! Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Sorry!" she whimpered, with a concerned expression on her normally cheery face. "It's just that you had this awful look on your face, like when you killed Slater."

"Yeah, well Balzac makes me feel like gutting someone with a ladle," Todd grumbled absently. When he noticed Rufus staring at his neck, Todd yanked up his shirt collar and started toward the class. "Come on! We're going to be late."

The next ninety minutes passed by with unbearable speed for Todd as he brooded over the appalling state of public education, the looming threat of grievous bodily harm at Track tryouts, another massive migraine, and his growing infatuation with the scary neighbor man. He was still brooding on these and other weighty matters when lunch came around. He sat at the table with Rufus, hardly giving her more than gruff monosyllabic replies.

"So, what happened with Mr. Balzac?" she asked, eyeing his untouched lunch thoughtfully. '_I wonder if he wants those tots…_'

"The usual snide remarks about my parents and a total lack of empathy. Here," he shoved his tray to Rufus, his head hurting too much to even stand the smell of it. "You can have my tots."

She blinked in surprise. "You sure?"

"Yes. I'm not hungry anyway…"

'_I sense a great disturbance in the Force…_'

"Okay. You know, those Star Wars references are getting annoying."

"But, I didn't say anything." Rufus looked at him strangely. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah. Just peachy," hissed Todd as he went back to his brooding. Or at least, _tried_ to. But now his mind was filled with a bizarre mutter of voices that drowned out the background sounds of a cafeteria filled with teenagers. They came streaming into him in a torrent of pettiness and callous selfishness.

'_You stupid bitch,'_ came a growl that Todd could swear was coming from the smiling preppy boy sitting and laughing with his equally preppy girlfriend. '_I wish you knew that I fucked you're little sister the other night at Mitch's. And she's much better at giving head than you, you ungrateful slut. Ooo…I can still feel her tight little—_'

'—_don't panic! Don't panic…_' chanted a very worried looking stoner at the table across from him. '_Just stay cool man. Nobody saw you do it. Beside, the old broad would've croaked sooner or later and they'd probably just toss all her shit anyway…_' Now Todd could see an old woman terrified face staring out from the darkness, then a scream—

'—_Oh God! Please! Please God!'_ begged a pretty redhead girl as she walked past Todd. '_Please let the results be negative! Please! Oh God! I swear I'll never have sex without a condom again, just please don't let me be pregnant!'_

In a sudden flicker of insight, Todd could see the redhead at her doctor's looking at first relieved and then utterly shocked by the doctor's next statement. He felt like he'd slipped out his body again as he abruptly turned to the redhead girl and heard himself say, "You're not pregnant. In fact, you'll never have to worry about getting pregnant again."

"What the fuck?!" She glared at him in outrage. For some odd reason, he could taste something tangy and greasy.

"You're experiencing pseudocyesis," continued the _other_ Todd. He smiled coolly at her. "In layman's terms, a false pregnancy, which caused by your own obsessive fear of getting knocked up. But that's going to be the least of your worries. When you go to the clinic tonight, the doctor's going to tell you that and then she's going to let you know that you're asshole ex-boyfriend gave you something worse than a bawling shit-factory: He gave you **_Chlamydia_**, which he contracted on that trip to Cancun with his buddies when he cheated on you with the same drunken sorority girl he later dumped you for. You've been infected for the last two months, but you'll survive. Alas, despite the best of fertility treatments and medical science, the disease has already done enough damage to your womb that you'll never be able to conceive a child. You have been laid barren as punishment for your reckless lusts, but take heart: At least now you'll never have to worry about taking the Pill again."

The redhead girl stood there, gaping in stunned horror. Then she burst into tears and ran from the cafeteria.

Rufus stared at him in shock. "How did _you_ know that?"

"I…I don't know," was all Todd could manage as he felt the _other's_ hold on him start to slip.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine!" came the growl as Todd tried to steady his trembling hands. His stomach lurched violently. "I...I'm gonna be sick!"

With that, he fled to the bathroom and rushed into a stall. Todd barely had knelt down to the toilet before throwing up a gigantic, leathery stream of gritty sludge. He kept hocking out the slimy mess, retching out a massive wads of what he swore was rubber tubing and wet fur. It squirmed around wildly as he vomited the stuff out, feeling it gush from his mouth and nose in vile torrent. Finally, after what felt like hours, the last strands came sliding out of his throat and hit the rest with a splash.

Gasping for air, Todd leaned against the stall door and closed his eyes. He was still shaking all over, but at least the migraine was gone. Then, seized by curiosity, he slowly opened his eyes and forced himself to look at the monstrous **_thing_** he'd thrown up.

It sat in the toilet bowl, glistening with a whitish sheen and trembling like black jellyfish. Its surface began frothing violently with lumps congealing into eyeballs or splitting open like miniature sucker mouths that gibbering with madness. Tiny little tendrils of slime thrust out from the mass, wriggling in a hypnotic fashion. As he watched in horror-stricken fascination, the **_Monster_** grew larger and started moving in a sluggish but deliberate way. Then it lurched toward him with such terrific speed that Todd almost didn't have time to scramble out of the **_Monster's _**reach.

He bolted out to the stall but heard the **_Monster_** slosh out of the toilet, landing on the tiles with a liquid thud. Todd wanted to run, to flee from the **_Monster_** he'd vomited out, but his body refused to respond. He stood there, back press up against the sinks as the **_Monster_** gushed out of toilet, its body swelling and twisting into a grotesque parody of what might have been an enormous bear. The **_Monster_** smiled at him, showing row upon row of fangs, and then lunged toward him.

Through sheer force of will, Todd ducked away from the **_Monster _**and ran blindly out of the bathroom. It hardly even registered that there was something wrong about the darkened hallway as Todd fled for his life with the **_Monster _**snapping at his heels. He ran and ran and ran down the apparently endless hallway until he saw a light glimmering up ahead.

Fueled by hope, Todd burst through the doorway and leapt out into _nothing_. He could see the **_Monster_** still in the doorway, howling with rage and unable—or _unwilling—_ to follow him into the Never. As bizarre as it was to be floating out into the Never, all Todd could think of was how, for the first time in his entire life, he felt completely safe. There were no monsters to terrorize him, no parents who didn't love him, no demon spawn lusting after him, and definitely no homicidal maniacs here. Only translucence and emptiness. The Never was gradually leeching away everything inside him, taking away the pain, the emotions, everything that had been Todd 'Squee' Casil. Todd closed his eyes, smiling gratefully as he started to dissolve into the nothing.

"Hey!"

Todd's eyes shot open and found himself face to face with an impossibly thin, hooded man. That was weird enough in itself, but it looked like the guy had a pair of rabbit ears sewn onto his coat.

"Don't give in," whispered the stranger.

"Don't give in? Give in to _what_?" snapped Todd, wincing from the abrupt sting of anger. "And who the fuck are you?!"

"There's no time now. Just come with me." Catching Todd's arm in a vice-like grasp, the stranger began dragging him through the Never. Todd twisted and struggled, wanting desperately to sink back into that peaceful void but the stranger would not let him go. They float out through the great expanse of nothingness for what felt like forever until a small dark shape appeared in the distance. The closer they got to it, the larger it became and then Todd recognized it was a door kind of like the doors going to hospital rooms. When they got close enough, Todd could even read the little placard where they'd put the patient's name.

It simply said: 'John Doe'.

Once they reached the door, the stranger pulled Todd in front of him and opened it. Without a word of warning, he pushed the boy through and Todd falls into the swirling darkness.

Crying out, Todd jerked blindly up from the bed only to have a firm but gentle hand restrain him.

"It's okay. You're safe now," assured a dark blob that Todd hoped wasn't what another monster in a hurried but pleasant voice.

Todd blinked and tried to get a look at this person as his eyes adjust to the cold fluorescence. Slowly features came into focus and, to Todd's relief it was a boy around his own age looking down at him. Even though the boy's scythe-like cowlick and trench coat looked oddly familiar, Todd couldn't remember ever having seen this guy at school before. Then again, Todd didn't really pay that much attention to his classmates... But he swore he'd seen this guy somewhere.

"You okay there?" asked the boy, noticing the grimace on Todd's face.

"Fine, I guess… Um, who are you?"

"Oh! Sorry!" Smiling, the boy extended a hand and to Todd's surprise, he realized it was a metal claw. "I'm Dr. Mabuse(1), but you can call me Dib."

"I'm Todd. Todd Casil," he murmured, looking at the doctor's hand dubiously. "You're look way too young to be a doctor. Or are you some kind of Doogie Howser?"

Dib sighed. "Well, I do have a medical degree, but my main field of study it parapsychology."

Todd's brow wrinkled. "Parapsychology? You mean like ghosts and UFOs?" At the mention of UFOs, Todd sensed the strangest mixture of rage and lust from the doctor but he shrugged it off quickly as a frightening realization struck him. "Wait. What the hell does the paranormal have to do with me?! And just where am I anyway?"

"Just calm down." Again, Dib took hold of his shoulder. "You're still at the hospital. I won't let them send you off to some lab, even after what happened."

"Hospital? Why the hell am I in the hospital?!" Todd barked, his voice rising in terror.

"Please calm down, Todd," repeated Dib. "Calm down and I'll explain everything, okay?"

Frightened but strangely reassured by Dib's tone, Todd leaned back against the pillows. "Alright. Tell me how I ended up in the hospital."

"Well," began Dib in a tone that was professional yet friendly. "The details are pretty fuzzy, but from what I've been able to find out, it started after you had what appeared to be a drug overdose almost two weeks ago. You were found convulsing on the floor, which lead to paramedics being called in. Now the reason you were in this state was because you apparently did one of two things: You either accidentally overdosed after having a panic attack or were actively trying to kill yourself. In fact, the hypothesis of suicide by overdose is the most popular, given your family situation and history of psychiatric problems. And this theory also explains most of your strange behavior. Of course, given the excessive amount of medication you've been prescribed, I'm amazed that this was the first time you've been hospitalized for an overdose. Accidental or otherwise."

"But it wasn't an overdose!" Todd snapped desperately. "It was…was…" As he struggled for a way to explain what happened rationally, Dib reached out again and gently patted his shoulder.

"It's alright, Todd. I know it wasn't an overdose," Dib said softly. "From what I observed, it appears you were the victim of what could be called a psychic breakdown. But those narrow-minded assholes can't very well put _that _in their reports, so the authorities have classified what happened as an overdose. When you were discovered in the bathroom, you were laying in a massive pool of red-brown fluid, a substance that was described in the _official_ reports as 'blood' but actually was described off-record as being more like 'Jell-o from Hell' by the paramedics attending you. One EMT even related how the substance violently attacked them when they initially approached your body. I was able to obtain a sample and, while it does have traces of your blood in it, I'm more inclined to classify it as a very stable form of ectoplasm."

"Ectoplasm?"

"Yes. That stuff often appears during psychic incidents, but yours is the first case I've ever encountered in which the substance actually remained long enough to be collected and properly analyzed. A _breakthrough_, really! Dr. Spengler(2) himself even requested that you be approached for more thorough studies once you had recovered…" murmured Dib with smile that made Todd cringe a little. "But I digress… After the paramedics were able to stabilize and apparently revive you. According to all accounts, when you were admitted to the hospital you were extraordinarily coherent and aware of your surroundings. And you were _very _insistent upon being released as soon as possible. But since there was a suicide risk, the attending doctor choose to keep you a couple of days for observation. Then you started saying _things_ to the staff and other patients that no normal person, especially a fifteen year-old boy, would know. There was a very notable incident where you told one of the ordeals a series of numbers that turned out to be the winning Mega Millions numbers. By the way, he's splitting the jackpot with you."

"So that's why you here?" Todd grumbled. "Because I'm spewing out winning lotto numbers?"

"Not exactly. Even thought you were consistently demonstrating a wide range of psychic phenomena, from remote viewing to telepathy to precognition, those hidebound _fools_ chalked it up to just lucky guesses and a talent at cold-reading. I was only brought in after the poltergeist appeared."

"Are you saying you got involved because of a ghost?"

"No." Sighing, Dib sat down on the bed next to Todd. "You see, poltergeists aren't really ghosts in the common sense of a disembodied spirit or incorporeal entity. They're actually displays of uncontrolled psychokinesis typically focused on a teenager, usually one undergoing a great deal of stress. Now, granted this is a hospital and there are a significant number of stressed out teens here, but considering your previous displays and the fact that the majority of the poltergeist activity occurred while you were present, it wasn't too difficult for me to figure out you were the cause of it. Or maybe I should say the _other_ you."

"The _other_ me?" Todd fidgeted nervously. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

To Todd's surprise, Dib actually smiled at the denial. "I don't doubt that. It's common for someone with dissociative identity disorder not to recall what their other personalities do."

"Are you calling me crazy?!" snapped Todd, dully aware now that the _other_ was seeping through again. "Because you of all people, Dib Mabuse, have no **_right_** to call anyone else crazy!"

"I never said you were crazy," the paranormalist replied calmly though Todd could sense him suppressing his rage. "But I'd like to point out that you are manifesting as Johnny again."

"Johnny?! What the fuck does **_he_** have to do with this?"

"So you know about Johnny?" Dib asked, raising an eyebrow as he pulled out a notepad.

"Yes…" Suddenly, Todd wasn't sure if he should tell the paranormalist anything more. He might turn out to be like all the other doctors Todd had been to in his life, all too willing to write Johnny the Homicidal Maniac off as just another product of Todd's deluded imagination. Then again, he had the oddest feeling that Dib would understand and maybe even be willing to actually help. Taking a deep breath, Todd decided to try his luck. "Okay, it's like this: Johnny's not a figment of my imagination. He's a real person! And he happens to be my next door neighbor. I've known the guy ever since I was five. He's….oh god! What can I say about the guy? He's a raving madman! A monster!"

"So you and him were enemies?"

"Actually, no. See, Johnny got it into his head that I'm his best friend," grumbled Todd miserably. "Kind of like Pepito, only slightly less demonic."

"Pepito, huh? Well, that explains why my darling cousin is so…eh, _concerned_ about you," Dib mumbling, making a note of it. When he noticed the angry, frightened look on Todd's face, he murmured, "We'll come back to _him_ later. Right now, I'd like you to tell me a little more about Johnny. I take it he isn't a very pleasant person?"

Todd laughed dryly. "That's putting it nicely. Johnny actually is a serial killer…No! I take that back. He's more of a spree killer or maybe a berserker? Fuck! I don't think they've got a word for what he is! Johnny just murders people! Lots and lots of people… He's killed so many over the years that I'm shocked he hasn't been caught yet. Then again, I doubt you can catch monsters like you do normal people… And, oh GOD, the bed-time stories he'd tell me…"

"Bed-time stories? Are you saying that Johnny only appears at night?"

"No. I've seen him around during the day-time, so I know he's not a vampire…" Todd watched Dib swiftly scribbling down everything he said. "But usually he'd creep into my room at about 2 in the morning and just start talking to me, telling me all kinds of horrible things and giving me the most ungodly advice…"

"Was that all he'd do with you? Just talk? Or was there more _intimate_ activities?"

"NO!" Todd roared, shocked by the outrage in his own voice. "Things aren't like that between us! In fact, Johnny **_despises_** sex."

Again Dib's eyebrow rose. "So this Johnny is erotophobic?"

"Very! He practically vomits when the subject of sex comes up. I'd say he's the demented poster-boy for antisexualism."

"Okay. Now let me make sure I understand this: You're saying that Johnny, your murderous—possibly supernatural—next door neighbor, is not only misanthropic but militantly celibate?"

"As far as I know." Todd muttered. "Except for this one time, Johnny went out on a date with a girl—this utterly beautiful girl with purple hair and these really pretty eyes… But that don't turn out well, because Johnny came over a few days later and told me she'd kicked his ass when he tried to kill her."

"Interesting…" Dib jotted something down in his notes. "Now, can I ask you a rather personal question?"

"Sure, I guess…"

"Did you ever _want_ a sexual relationship with Johnny?"

"What?! No! I—I…" Stammering, Todd couldn't figure what to say. He had been thinking about Johnny a lot lately and it had gotten to the point where Todd found himself _fantasizing_ about the scary neighbor. But he didn't want things to be that way with Johnny because Todd knew it was wrong and yet he couldn't stop those horrible feelings from coming. Those nasty, terrible dreams often left him sickened from the guilt and angry with himself. Finally, he slumped in defeat. "I honestly don't know."

"Alright. Let me ask you another personal question: Do you consider yourself a homosexual?"

Going defensive, Todd glared at Dib. "I'm not sure where you're going with this…"

"I don't mean anything by asking that. It's simply that confusion about your sexuality may be causing some major stress in your life. And it's the stress that may have produced the initial seizure. Now, what I'm trying to establish is exactly what the trigger event was. I'm also trying to find out what caused you to start manifesting psychic powers and what almost killed you last night."

"WHAT?"

Yet again, Dib reached out to sooth the boy. "Calm down. It's not that big of a deal…"

Todd rounded on him. "Not that big of a deal?! I almost DIED and it's not a big deal?!"

"You're talking to someone's who's been declared legally dead at least fourteen different times," Dib replied nonchalantly. "Trust me it really isn't something you need to get worked up about. In fact, I'd advise that you try not getting so stressed out."

"Why shouldn't I be stressed?!" snapped Todd. "I'm in the hospital, you just told me I'm some kind of a freak, and that **_Monster_** in my head almost killed me!"

"Monster? In your _head_?" More notes.

"It…it was just a nightmare. I have nightmares all the time…"

"I noticed that in your file," Dib replied, pulling a folder out of his coat pocket. "It also says that you suffer from severe chronic migraines, which explains the painkillers…and that you have an 'imaginary friend', Shmee."

"Yes. Well, he's not really imaginary. He's my teddy bear…" muttered Todd, ashamed to admit that he still had one. "And there are the Doughboys, too, but I don't think they're imaginary either…"

"Doughboys?" Now Dib sound _very _interested. The pen in his hand scratched audibly across the paper as he took down more notes. "Tell me something, Todd. Do these doughboys show up only in your dreams?"

"No! They're real, dammit! They've even talked to other people. Well, once…when I was unconscious. See, they're made out of Styrofoam…well, they _were_, until Shmee turned them into key-chains…"

"So, Shmee has _control_ over the doughboys?"

"Sort of…" Todd mumbled. "I'm not sure anybody can control those two. Especially Mister Eff."

"The girly one? With 'FUCK' on its shirt?"

"No, that's D-boy… Mister Eff is the one with the 'Z?'."

"Okay…" Making one final note, Dib glanced down at his watch. Grimacing, he reluctantly put away his notepad and got up. "Well, I think that enough for now. We'll talk some more later. Just try to relax and get some rest." He moved toward the door.

"Wait! When can I leave?"

For a moment, Dib stood there and Todd could sense he was stalling for time. "Soon. I… Well, we still need to do some more tests… Make sure your recovery is going well. We'll let you out as soon as we have the results…"

"Liar." The word hissed from Todd's lips. "You're not keeping me here because you want to make sure I'm better. It's because _you_ don't know what's wrong with me. That's the _real_ reason you're keeping me prisoner in the hellhole, isn't it **_Dib_**?"

"Actually, I think know what the problem is but it's still too early to be sure. Don't worry, though. You should be out of here in the next couple of days." He started to leave again but then paused and added, "Todd, I promise you that I'll help you get through this. All you have to do is trust me."

Todd didn't say anything. Then he finally whispered, "I trust you."

"Alright." Dib was smiling again. "I'll be back soon."

With that, Dib was gone and Todd lay back on the bed. Even though Dib hadn't really told him much, Todd felt strangely comforted by the fact that the paranormalist genuinely wanted to help. He couldn't figure out _why_ he felt like this. They'd just met and yet Todd was already willing to trust this guy with his life and sanity. Maybe it was because Dib was so confident, so in control of himself…

"He's not, you know," murmured a voice at the foot of the bed.

Todd jerked up, staring at the hooded stranger who was sitting on the edge of the bed. Now he realized that the rabbit-ears weren't attached to his hood but part of a grotesque papier-mâché mask. "Oh fuck! You again?!"

"Dib won't save you, Squee," continued the stranger, oblivious to the outburst. "He might not even be able to save himself."

"And you _can_?" sneered Todd.

The stranger laughed madly then abruptly stopped. "I'm afraid I can't save you, either. I couldn't save myself…"

Reaching up, the stranger took off his mask and leaned in close so Todd could get a good look at the hideous remains of his face. It once had been a man, but the flesh was rotting and one side of the face had been shattered by what looked like a gunshot. Todd swore he recognized the gaunt features despite the ravages of decay and violent death. But before he could figure out who the stranger reminded him of, the stranger placed the mask back over his face.

"Not so pretty, am I?" the stranger snickered then lapsed into silence. Before Todd could ask, the stranger spoke again.

"You're wondering what happened to me, right?" Without giving Todd a chance to answer, the stranger continued. "It was the monster behind the Wall. It drove me to madness and I ultimately ended up killing myself. Okay, so I wasn't exactly a healthy specimen of humanity, but what the Moose(3) did to me was something I wouldn't wish upon even those vile goblin people."

Todd arched an eyebrow. "You went insane because of a monstrous moose?"

"Well, no," the stranger replied. "It's not really a moose. Hell, you should know that! I mean, you saw it yourself…"

"That **_thing_** in my head drove you insane?!" Todd barked, terrified.

"Actually, I was horrendously insane long before the Sickness took over my mind. Maybe that's how it found a loophole. Maybe it's too late…" The stranger stopped unexpectedly, leaping to his feet and pacing around the room. "No! There's no time for that now. I swore, swore to whatever God is left to listen, that you'd never become like me! And I'll keep that promise!"

"But you just said you couldn't help me."

"No!" corrected the stranger. "I said I couldn't _save_ you, Squee. Only you can save yourself. But I refuse to stand by and let that motherfucking Sickness destroy you the way it destroyed me!"

Again, the stranger fell silent and this time Todd realized he was _listening_ to something. At first, Todd couldn't figure out what the stranger was hearing but soon he became aware of a dull clatter which was moving closer and closer and closer…

"I have to go, Squee." The stranger voice was fainter now and he was slowly fading away. "I…I don't know how much longer I can keep this up, but as long as I'm able to I'll do whatever I can to help you."

"But I don't even know who you are!"

"You already know me…" Now the stranger was reduced to nothing more than a floating bunny head. "Please, Squee…take care of yourself and whatever happens… **_Don't give in_**…"

And then there was nothing. Now bunny-masked stranger, no clatter noises, nothing. Only the average surroundings of a hospital room and the average background sound of the staff making their daily rounds.

Todd lay on the bed for hours, staring up at the ceiling blankly as his already troubled thoughts roiled with confusion and a vague sense of cosmic paranoia.(4) But soon even the fear that the Universe itself wasn't enough to keep Todd from falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

--- --- --- --- ---

Author Notes:

1. See Chapter 2 of _Invader Scorned_.

2. "**Janine Melnitz**: You are so kind to take care of that man. You know, you're a real humanitarian.  
** Dr. Egon Spengler**: I don't think he's human." _Ghost Busters (1984)_

3. "FUN FACT: It's not a moose." JtHM, vol. 5

4. **DON'T PANIC**. And don't forget your towel


	8. Chapter 7: Come in my boat

**Chapter 7: Come in my boat...**

_"Komm in mein Boot  
ein Sturm kommt auf  
und es wird Nacht"  
~~ "Seeman," Rammstein_

It was several days after speaking with Dr. Mabuse before Todd woke up. He had slept fitfully the whole time, sunk deep in his troubled thoughts and wild fever dreams…

It began when Todd found himself standing alone in a labyrinthine sewer. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten there or even where there was, only that he gone down into that abysmal place in search of something. As Todd roamed the ancient tunnels, hideous and unnatural creatures wriggled in the filth, chittering angrily at him as he walked past. He wandered through nightmarish halls lined with locked doors, a prison-like mental ward for dangerous maniacs. At times he could hear tortured screams, desperate pleading noises that were almost human-all noise that he almost thought said words. There had been other sounds as well, metal scraping metal or an indistinct, gristly popping and occasional snippets of beautiful, eerie music. With these and other, even more disturbing things echoing in his ears, Todd climbed up stairs covered in slimy shit, crawled through dank mazes of pipes, and skirted the edges of deep cesspools with vile things that writhed and gibbered at him, until he reached the Lake.

Todd couldn't explain it, but he knew what he was searching for was out there across the filthy water. There had been a distant point of light, dim and yellow-white, hovering high above the very center of the Lake and beckoning to Todd. He looked around the water's edge until he stumbled upon a rickety little boat which he climbed into and began to row toward the light. For seemingly endless hours he rowed and rowed and rowed until the light gradually brightened around him, changing the water to a murky green. Soon the light was strong enough for Todd to make out that there were dark shapes floating just beneath the surface. He first thought they were some kind of water weeds, but the light revealed the hideous truth.

The Lake was filled with bodies. Thousands and thousands of dead bodies that spiraled out from the very center of the Lake, bodies of both men and women, mostly youthful and attractive, the hipsters, the gang-bangers, and the trendy 'scene kids' . They all were bound in some way with leather straps and other torture devices, their ruined bodies tethered to the unseen bottom by heavy rusted chains. It was obvious that these people had been dead for a long, long time yet decay was only just beginning to set in. As horrific as it all was, Todd found himself strangely fascinated by the subtle corruption of the flesh, the way those wasted bodies would sway gently with an intricate twisting of hair and cloth underneath the water. He stared spellbound at them all, his oars forgotten as he drifted aimlessly toward the light. And a thousand empty eyes stared back at him, cloudy and hollow in faces that were eerily serene in death. But then Todd began to recognize the faces staring up from the depths.

There was the creepy man in the Scumby shirt, his skull splayed open with the hooks still in it. And over there was the census taker, only a mangled, splinter filled torso just as Todd remembered. And there were even more corpses bunched like a hideous display of fruit. He saw one set of hooks and chains twisting emptily below the water, as if something had torn free of their restraints. After that the bodies seemed to thin out, as if whatever had put them there wasn't killing as often as it once did. Then he drifted over to a fresh mass of bodies, the violated and mutilated victims of a voracious serial killer the gore-hungry press had dubbed the Happy Noodle-Boy. Appalled but not surprised, Todd recognized the sad face of the girl who had waited on him at the 24-7 the other day, her head haloed by faint wisps of red fog.

There was more of this crimson fog billowing out into the water like vast banks of clouds, as if a bottle of red ink had been dumped out into the water, all vividly lit by the blazing light. Todd turned and looked up squinting to see what was creating this fantastic glare. At first, all he could make out was a vague dark shape but soon his vision cleared enough that there was a gigantic lamppost with a ludicrously huge light bulb sticking up out of the Lake. And then he saw the bunny-man, his mask was broken now to reveal half of his gaunt face with gore oozing out from between the clenched teeth, the face beneath frozen in a look of tearful shock. Blood seeped out from his wounds, bright and crimson, dribbling down the bunny-man's stomach and legs to drip off the shiny metal clefts of his boots in great big drops, spilling out into the water like ink that billowed out into vast red banks of clouds. It was clear that some thing had beaten the bunny-man brutally, then took a huge nail and thrust it through his torso, pinning him to the lamp.

Faintly, Todd heard a buzzing like flies hovering around road kill. It grew gradually louder, filling the vast chamber with an ungodly seething rattle that shook the teeth in Todd's head and ground into his very soul. Several black tentacles rose out of the bloody water. They writhed and turned hypnotically for a few moments before they shot forward to snatch Todd and drag him into the depths…

Jerking upright, Todd found himself in the safety of the hospital room. He knew that what he'd seen and experienced hadn't-couldn't- actually have happened, that he'd dreamt it all, but it felt too real. And why was he dreaming about all those dead people? Specifically, why was he dreaming about murder victims? Okay, so maybe it was possible that the deaths of the Scumby man and the census taker could be explained as a manifestation of childhood trauma…then again, Todd knew that his whole life had been a continuous stream of traumas, so those two incidents shouldn't really matter much. And that didn't explain those other deaths. The only one besides the Scumby man and the census taker in which he'd had any meaningfully contact with was the 24-7 clerk. The longer he thought about it all, the more frightening his conclusions became.

Because Todd realized that all these people, from the creepy Scumby man to the 24-7 clerk to the dead hipsters, had one major thing in common-besides being dead of course. All those people—those poor, miserable examples of humanity—they all had met Death in the most brutal, wantonly violent and sickest way possible. And that could only mean one thing: Johnny.

Of course, it didn't make sense! True, Todd could remember being the unlucky witness to some of his nightmarish neighbor's more brutal moments, but he couldn't possibly have seen all of them! Besides, if all those people had been the pathetic casualties of Johnny's personal "expression", then he'd have to have been killing for at least decades. Possibly even centuries, judging by sheer number of bodies.

"But that doesn't make sense!" Todd repeated aloud, slumping forward with his head in his hands and unable to reconcile the obvious but impossible conclusion. "It is just fucking impossible!"

"Why?" moaned a dirge-like voice. Todd looked up and saw D-boy smiling sweetly at him. "For all you know, Johnny could be immortal. He can't actually die…at least, he can't die like a mortal. He's even told you so. A supernatural psycho killer, slaughtering his way through Eternity, a hideous plague-demon unleashed upon man as punishment for his own outrageous excesses. He is Eurynomus, the grinning monster sent to slay those whose sins offended the very gods themselves!"

"He does look like a big-mouthed man bug monster sometimes…" Todd muttered, not bothering to wonder when or how D-boy had gotten there. "But if Johnny is some kind of divine punishment, then why doesn't he enjoy what he does? I mean, it be like his reason for living. So why is he always trying to end it all?"

"If you're sole purpose for being was to spend the rest of eternity killing virtually everyone you'll ever met, would you want to continue existing?"

"Good point. But what about the Happy Noodle Boy killings?"

D-boy's smile widened evilly. "What about them?"

"Johnny couldn't have done that to those girls."

The doughboy recoiled in shock. "Are you pulling my dick? We both know Nny's capable of excessive acts of brutality…"

"That's not what I meant!" snapped Todd. "I know Johnny's a killer. He's a sick, violently damaged creature. He's a whole lot of horribly nasty things, but at least he's not a rapist."

"And what makes you so sure of that, boy?" darkly laughed D-boy. "After all, they keep finding those fucking stick-figure scribblings at every crime scene. He was always leaving shit like that laying about…just begging to be caught, if you ask me… And wasn't Happy Noodle Boy created by Johnny?"

"Yes… but that's coincidental. It doesn't mean he did those things. For all either of us know, it could just be some crazy hobo…"

"You know this isn't just some random street vermin." rasped the doughboy, his tone shifting darkly. "Just like you know, deep down-despite all his protests to the contrary- Johnny truly enjoys what he does…"

"Maybe you're right about that part. After all, he's perfectly capable of chopping somebody up, flaying the flesh from their bones, and maybe even wiring a guy up to be electrocuted every time someone used the door bell without any shame ...but rape? It's not his thing." Speaking softly, Todd paced around the room, his hands gesturing random emphasis to his words. "He wouldn't inflict that upon another person. Because Johnny considers rape disgusting. It's beneath him. It's…it's giving into the baser instinct, that primitive and bestial state of humanity that Johnny finds so hideously repulsive. Besides, he loathes touching people."

"An excellent insight into our old friend's psyche, my boy!" chirped D-boy. "Yet this leads us to one of three possibilities. First is that maybe you're completely wrong and that Johnny is a hypocritical bastard who refuses even to admit he has any sexual urges yet acts upon them in that most vile and repugnant way a man can. We're both well aware of Johnny's infinite capacity for denial. The second possibility is that it isn't Johnny at all but a sick little copycat killer—very likely, considering that dear old Nny has became quite the legend around these parts. And this ties in with the third possible answer to this conundrum: that Johnny does the killing after his accomplice does the raping, quite likely as an act of twisted mercy for the victim…"

"Accomplice?" Todd hissed. "That's crazy! And it makes no sense! He would never have an accomplice! That implies an intimate relationship between Johnny and another human being! And Johnny loathes every single human in existence, including himself." Todd paused. "Especially himself!"

"He likes you," D-boy pointed out dryly.

Todd glared at the doughboy. "Yeah, well I'm beginning to have doubts about that…"

D-boy grinned smugly. He leaned in close to Todd, snuffing deeply. "Ah, despair! The sweetest perfume I've ever known!"

"Actually, I think it's just a serious case of body odor." He sniffed one of his armpits, and then winced in disgust. "Damn, I need a shower." he muttered, staggering toward the tiny bathroom.

"Why even bother?" D-boy groused, following Todd into the bathroom while the boy undressed. "It's not like anyone cares about your personal hygiene."

"Dib would."

The doughboy started giggling. "Aww, got a little crush on the good doctor?"

Turning around and not even considering the fact that he was completely naked now, Todd glared him. "What the fuck is wrong with you? I barely even know the guy! Besides, just because I happen to like Dib doesn't mean I'm sexually attracted to him. Sure, he's good-looking in a geeky sort of way, intelligent, and actually seems to think of me like a human being. But that doesn't me I want him to suck my cock."

"Of course it doesn't…" D-boy purred in a mocking tone. Then he glanced down, arching an eyebrow as his little smirk shifted coyly. "Then again, I doubt anyone could fit that easily in their mouth…"

Grabbing a towel, Todd quickly covered himself and snapped, "Get the fuck out, you PERVERT!"

"You are such a prude…" D-boy sighed before he vanished with a squishy pop.

Todd stood there a moment, flushed with embarrassment. Then, after making a quick check to make sure the doughboy was really gone, he climbed into the shower. The very act of just standing there underneath the shower felt utterly amazing despite the triviality of it. Todd closed his eyes and shuddered in delight at the strange, almost electric sensations tingling across his skin. He moaned as hot water rushed over him, splashing onto his face and shoulders then running down the rest of his body. It was so relaxing, so sensational that all he did for the longest time was stand there, blissed out in an orgasmic haze. But it slowly dawned on Todd that water wasn't supposed to move upward and it sure as hell didn't lick people.

Snapping out of his idyllic trance, Todd stared with terror at the thick, greasy tentacles creeping up his legs and stomach. There was a moment when he stood in shock, giving those horrible things more time to ooze even further up to twist around his torso. It was only when they started pulling him down into the growing pool of black sludge that Todd screamed and struggled to free himself. Crazed with fear, he fought against the groping, clawing hands that seized hold and dragged him under. Todd shrieks of terror were silenced when one tentacle whipped around his neck and thrust deep into his mouth. Still kicking and clawing to get away, Todd was sickeningly conscious of the many nasty tentacles foully probing his more intimate parts by as he sank into the filthy darkness that chattered like swarms of destroying locusts…

…and then there was nothing. No tentacles, no dirty hands…nothing. Only the rattle of water hitting the shower floor on which Todd curled in a crumpled, twitching heap with wild, staring eyes. If it hadn't been for the stinging bruises and scratches covering his body, Todd would've been happy to just chalk the whole incident up as another fucked up hallucination.

Groaning in pain, he got up and staggered out of the shower. Suddenly, Todd became aware of two presences just beyond the bathroom door. He twisted sharply toward the door, straining to hear the oddly muffled voices. One seemed like a male and the other was more feminine, and judging by the harshness of their tones they must be having a very heated argument indeed. He was still shaking, but now fear had given way to rage.

"Those filthy little shits..." Reaching to the sink behind him, Todd felt his fingers clench around the pistol he'd taken from Johnny's house. He didn't have any idea how it could have gotten there or where that creepy chittering was coming from, but right then, he didn't give a shit. With a growl of fury, he wrenched the door open and leveled the gun to blow the unholy shit out of both those fucking doughboys...only to have a metal claw jerk his arm up and cause Todd to blast an innocent ceiling tile.

"Good morning to you, too," grumbled Dib, taking to gun out of Todd's limp hand as if it was normal to have naked, gun-wielding lunatics leap out at him. He glared at the still smoking weapon. "And just where the hell did this come from?"

"Knowing you, Dib," snorted the extremely attractive owner of the other voice. "It's probably yours. You probably took gun out while you were using the bathroom, forgot all about, and just left it laying there."

Forcing a pleasant grin, Dib flip her off. "Fuck you."

"No thanks." Turning to Todd, she smiled prettily at him and flicked her hair cutely. He idly noticed that it was dyed a very pretty shade of purple. "Sorry about barging in like this, Mister Casil, but it's rather urgent. My name's Zita, I'm here on behalf of the government to make you a very special offer."

Before Todd could even react, Dib caught hold of the girl's arm and dragged her toward the door. "No, you are leaving now Zita and you can tell Major Rankle that Todd isn't going to be attending his precious Academy. Ever."

"Whoa! Wait one minute here!" Todd barked, stepping between Dib and the girl. "Maybe I'd like to hear what she has to say."

"Trust me," muttered Dib. "You don't want it. And as the attending physician in your case, I'm saying that it's in your best interest not to do anything to cause yourself excessive stress. In fact, if I were you I wouldn't even bother listening to her offer."

"Well, I'm not you. And it's not your decision to make, Dib."

They locked in a tense stare-down, neither one willing to break off. It was only when Dib's cell phone rang that he threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine. Do whatever you like! But I'm telling you, you're making a huge mistake."

"What the hell's his problem?" Todd muttered when Dib moved out of earshot to take the call.

Zita laughed in that pretty, airy way only the extremely popular kids could laugh. "Oh, he's just pissed off about those Mysterious Mysteries' guys. They keep asking to do an interview and he's being such bitch about the whole thing."

"Oh god..." moaned Todd, raising a hand to cover his face. "I don't wanna be paraded around like a circus freak!"

"Don't worry! It's got nothing to do with you," Zita giggled, patting his arm reassuringly. "See, there's this guy named Zim and..."

"...Dib almost killed him," finished Todd quietly, quickly catching a mental glimpse of a very badly disguised alien. He could also see, playing in his mind like a scene form some cheap action movie, the alien picking a fight with the paranormalist and getting viciously beaten for it. But instead of smug triumph for Dib, Todd sensed a horror mingled with regret…and something a bit more disturbing…

"And it's got him scared now." Todd muttered absently, forgetting all about Zita for a moment as he prodded a little deeper into Dib's mind. "He's scared that they've found him out… He's afraid of the truth..."

"What? That Zim's an alien?" There was that laugh again. "Oh, please! Zim's just some psycho with a skin condition! Besides, aliens don't exist."

"Yes they do!" Todd snapped back. "Aliens do exist! I've seen them! I was even taken aboard a fucking UFO and they did things to my head and….and..." He stopped mid-rant when he noticed Dib was glaring at him from across the room. For a brief moment, Todd saw that the left side of Dib's face was now a torn mass of flesh with an eye that gleamed unholy red.

"You okay?" Zita asked

"Fine! Just fine..." Todd shook it off and blamed this sudden flash of premonition on a trick of light and all the meds they must have been feeding him. Turning back to her, he smiled broadly. "So, what did you want to talk about again?"

"Oh! I almost forgot! Like I said before, I was sent here to make you a very special offer, Todd." She giggled, touching his shoulder again. This time, her fingers linger just a bit too long to be merely friendly. "You don't mind if I call you Todd, do you?"

"Eh, no. Not at all."

"Okay…Todd." She said his name in way that made him feel awkward but interesting-and interested. "What would you say if I told you that for the last thirty years the government has been recruiting people with psychic powers and training them to be part of a top-secret elite military unit? You know: remote viewers, telepaths, and all that sort of thing."

"I'd say that sounds…neat? Like some kind of movie." Todd replied hesitantly, unsure if this was just leading into yet another horrible joke at his expense.

"Now what would you say if I told you that, from what we've been able to observe, you would be a perfect candidate for the project."

"But I'm not psychic. At least, I don't think I'm a psychic…"

Zita laughed. "Don't be modest. For someone with no prior training whatsoever, you're one of the most power telepaths I've ever seen! Why, you're the first person I ever seen able to produce ectoplasmic manifestations without any training at all! With the right kind of guidance, you have the potential to become one of the greatest agents in the history of the Institute! Who knows? You might even surpass—"

There was a loud snap as Dib shut his cell phone and came over to them.

"Sorry to interrupt," he hissed, not sounding sorry at all. He held out a large shopping bag to Todd "I think you might want to put these on. You must be freezing your ass off."

It took Todd a second to figured out what Dib was getting at, then he realized that he'd been standing there the whole time talking to an extremely attractive girl stark naked. Flushing in humiliation, he clutched the bag protectively to over himself and bolted into the bathroom. He noticed that Zita looked rather disappointed.

He barely had one leg in his pants when someone snickered behind him, "That girl's hitting on you."

Yelping, Todd staggered and almost fell. He turned an icy glare on Mister Eff, who sat on the sink kicking his stubby little feet. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"That girl was flirting with you," repeated the doughboy in that condescendingly slow way reserved for the terminally stupid. "Looks like she's got the hots for you."

"Yeah," grumbled Todd while he finished getting dressed. "Zita's real interested in me...as far as getting me to go to this academy, that is."

Mister Eff chuckled nastily. "Oh, she's more than just professionally interested. Even a brain-dead squirrel would've noticed the way she kept staring at you."

"Well I'd be staring too if some crazy naked man came running out of the bathroom waving a gun around!"

"For fuck's sake!" the doughboy hissed angrily. "That girl wants you, Todd! She wants you bad. And you know what to do next..."

"Tell her that I'm very flattered?"

Mister Eff slapped his forehead. "No dumbass! GET FUCKING LAID!"

For a long while, Todd only stared at him blankly. "Are you suggesting that I have sex with a girl I've just met just because she's attractive and seems to be hitting on me?"

"Yes, Einstein! That's exactly what I'm telling you to do! Now kick Dib out so you can bone her!"

"But you keep telling me to go fuck Pepito," Todd snapped, feeling confused and frustrated.

"No, you putz! I told you to rape the demonic little shit."

"What's the difference?"

"Rape is not about the sex. The sex act is just a means to an end! It's about the power. It's about having total control of your victim, humiliating and torturing them. It's about putting that arrogant runt in his goddamn place!" The doughboy paused then sulkily added, "And I noticed you still haven't done that yet."

Todd glared at Mister Eff in disgust. "Okay. You know there's so much wrong with what you just said that...well, words fail me. Besides, what makes you think that I wanted to rape Pepito? Maybe I actually like him. Who knows? Maybe I'm not even into girls..."

"I cannot believe this..." groaned the doughboy. "Do you really believe that bullshit? I happen to know you're attracted to her in a sexual way. But, oh no! You just can't go with it, can you? You're gonna pass up the chance to nail a smoking hot babe because you can't make up your mind whether or not you're a fucking fagot?"

"I'm not gay." was all Todd could manage back.

"Then why aren't you trying to tap that ass?

"So, I should fuck her simply because she's attractive and flirting with me?" rasped Todd as he slipped the gun into the back of his waistband, hiding it under his shirt. "I hardly know this girl. All I'm sure of, besides the fact that she's very pretty and isn't treating me like moldy dog-shit just yet, is that her name is Zita and she's here on behalf of the government."

"That's good enough. I mean, people have fucked knowing less than that!"

"But I don't want some filthy, sleazy one night stand! I want my first time to mean something. I want it to be… to be… I just don't want it to be that way, alright?"

Mister Eff rolled his eyes, lips curled in disdain. "Whatever, fagot."

Realizing it was pointless to keep arguing with the yeasty little shit; Todd threw up his hands and left the bathroom. It was only then that he noticed that the clothes Dib gave him seemed oddly snug, especially around the butt.

"Uh, I don't mean to be ungrateful or anything," Todd began then he looked down at the shirt he was wearing. "HOLY FAT JESUS ON A POGO STICK! IS THIS A SILK-SCREEN OF THE POSTER FOR FRITZ LANG'S METROPOLIS? WHERE THE HELL DID YOU FIND THIS?"

"The Internet. I thought you might like one considering all the B-movie stuff you collect."

Still squeaking happily, Todd latched onto Dib in a fit of geeky joy. "Oh God! This is the coolest thing anyone has ever— Wait. How did you know that?" He angrily shoved the other boy away and glared at him with a rage-fueled paranoia. "I never said anything about liking old movies! You…you were in my house! You went through my things! How could you? I trusted you!"

"Would you calm down?" muttered Dib, completely unruffled by the outburst. "I was only trying to find some decent clothes for you to wear. Of course, if you really want to walk down the street in a hospital gown with you ass hanging out…"

"At least it wouldn't give me a freaking wedgie," Todd groused, tugging at his backside. "Oh, don't get me wrong. I appreciate you giving me this stuff, but I don't think you got the right size…"

"Actually, I did get the right sizes." Before Todd could say anything, the paranormalist cut him off again. "Seriously, Todd. You really need to stop buying such baggy clothes. It's not flattering on a guy with you build."

"He does have a point." Zita giggled. "Besides, you've got too nice a butt to dress like a crazed hobo."

"Uh, thanks?" Todd muttered feeling clumsy and hot. He was starting to reconsider Mister Eff's suggestion… Unfortunately, before Todd could even begin to act on that thought, Dib grabbed him around the shoulders and started to lead him out of the room.

"Well, Todd," began the paranormalist in a mocking brightness as he fiddled around with something on his watch. "It's time for us to be going…"

"Hey! What the hell are you do—" Before either Zita or Todd could react, Dib hooked his arm around Todd's as he activated the miniature teleporter in his watch causing both boys to blink out of the hospital room. After a mercifully short journey through the stomach-churning psychedelics of subspace, Dib blinked them both back into normal space-time, sending Todd sprawling onto the pavement in the neon-bright night of some foreign city.

"HOLY MOTHERFUCKING GOD!" gasped Todd as he staggered back to his feet. "WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?"

"I just teleported us to Tokyo," Dib replied with a yawn, as if near instant trans-Pacific teleportation was normal as taking a little stroll along the sidewalk.

"We're in JAPAN?" Panicked and furious, Todd collapsed onto a bus-stop bench and glared at him. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Not only is this kidnapping, it's also got to be breaking some kind of international law… Aren't we supposed to go through customs? Shit! I don't even have a fucking passport!"

"Here." With considerable indifference, Dib tossed him a large manila envelope. "There's your passport, credit cards, proof of health insurance, the Psychic's Code of Conduct, traveler's checks, and all the rest, courtesy of the Military Institute for the Neutralization of Paranormal Horrors, Unnatural Catastrophes, and Kryptoids. M-I-N-D-P-H-U-C-K for short."

Todd looked up at him curiously. "Isn't cryptoid spelled with a 'c'?"

"Actually the suffix crypto is derived from the Greek word kryptos – with a 'k'— meaning 'hidden'."

"Well, isn't that pretentious?" hissed Todd, getting up and following Dib as the paranormalist started walking up the street. "Leave it to the government to create a mindfuck just to make something look 'cool' on the stationery."

"Don't remind me…" Dib muttered with a bitter grimace. "If I'd had my way, it would've been the Mabuse Institute for Paranormal Research/Museum/Snack-bar."

"That's were I've heard your name before!" squeaked Todd, hit by a sudden insight. "I was wondering why it seemed familiar…"

"Yeah, well you'd be hard pressed to find someone who hasn't heard of me or my family." His expression darkened. "Especially my father."

"Whoa! I didn't know that many people knew about Fritz Lang's Dr. Mabuse, the Gambler."

Dib stopped dead in his tracks. "Huh?"

"You are related to the infamous German criminal, right? The guy who use to hypnotize his victims for his own nefarious ends?"

Dib stared at him. Time stretched between, a temporal string of discarded gum being pulled off the shoe of eternity. "I'm absolutely amazed that you don't know who I am or who my father is but knew about a relatively obscure 1930's German Expressionist horror film…"

"Well, given the fact that you just teleported us to Japan, I kind of guess you're some kind of mad scientist who apparently specializes in paranormal investigation. Which is pretty cool and all, but it's not like you're some kind of superhero or something…"

"Let me ask you something, Todd." Dib muttered miserably. "Have you ever seen Buckaroo Bonsai?"

Todd grinned, feeling much more confident now that they were discussing his specialty. "Of course!"

"My life's been like that since I turned thirteen."

"So you're a super-genius inventor/brain-surgeon/rock star who fights aliens and interdimensional menaces? And I'm guessing you've also got hordes of groupies whose devotion to you borders upon a religious mania."

"Yeah. I'm all that, except for the…aliens," he growled. "Because they don't exist…" There was a small tic now, like the kind Johnny would get right before he'd launch into a murderous rant. "Besides, any interstellar race capable of light-speed space travel wouldn't want to waste their time on this fucking dirtball."

Todd found himself glaring at the paranormalist, his tone shifting to that deeper voice again. "Dib, you and I both know that's a load of bullshit. Aliens do exist, they routinely visit Earth, and those bastards cheerfully take advantage of humankind's ignorance and stupidity about our true place in the Universe to mercilessly experiment on us like bunch of drooling lab monkeys just because they can get away with it. Then again, given all the morons running amuck on this miserable little planet, maybe we deserve to be treated like shit…"

Dib laughed softly. "Damn… And here I thought I had a low opinion of humanity!"

A cold silence fell between them as they continued up the street. After a few moments, Dib began casting subtle glances around, which seemed like he'd also realized they were being followed, before he suddenly ducked down a narrow alley. The paranormalist was walking so quickly now that Todd practically had to run to keep up with the gazelle like stride as Dib lead their invisible pursuers on a mad chase through the maze-like streets of Tokyo. They only stopped when Dib took a turn down a dead-end street.

"…dammit…" Dib looked at the filthy wall in mild annoyance then turned to Todd. "You'd better let me handle this, Todd. Oh, and you might want to find something to duck behind…"

"Who the hell are—!"

Todd squealed in terror as a band of sword-wielding bionic ninja burst out form nowhere and started attacking the pair. While Dib proceeded to effortlessly pulled off the most amazing wire-fu stunts imaginable against these high-tech kung-fu nightmares, Todd dodged and scurried around in blind fear as three of the ninja cyborgs backed him into a corner. He cowered against the wall as the ninjas close in….and then suddenly Todd remembered he had the gun.

"*click* BLAM! whamp! *click* BLAM! whamp! *click*BLAM! whamp!"

Abruptly, Dib and the other ninjas stop fighting as they all turn shocked stares at Todd, who is now standing over three dead ninjas with a smoking gun in his hand.

"What?" he cried, throwing his arms wide in confused frustration.

One of the ninjas turned to Dib, barking out what Todd could only presume was a Japanese tongue lashing, and after Dib bowed low many times and gave him a very heartfelt apology, motioned for his fellow cyborg assassins to pick up their fallen. After they had vanished back into the shadows from whence they came, Dib went over to Todd.

"I told you to let me handle it," muttered the paranormalist as he gave the boy a sour look. "You're just lucky they think you're just another dumb sidekick, otherwise I have had to make you commit seppuku for breaking The Rules…"

"Rules? What fucking rules?" Todd barked angrily. "They were trying to kill me! It was self-defense!"

Dib sighed. "I know, but that doesn't make it any less dishonorable. One of the rules that everyone has to follow is that you're not allowed to use firearms during a martial arts fight. Especially if you're one of the heroes…"

"But I'm not a hero! I'm just a normal guy! I'm not used to being recruited by top-secret government agencies, teleported half-way across the globe, and getting attacked by random bionic ninjas!" he shouted, feeling that curiously nasty throb in his head. Grinding his jaw, Todd forced himself to calm down before he continued. "Why did you bring me here?"

"Oh! Sorry about that!" Dib looked sheepish now. "I forgot to tell you that I was taking you to see Doctor Don Ki Kong."

"Donkey Kong?" repeated Todd, staring at the paranormalist in bewildered horror as vision of twisted, anime style perversions flashed through his mind.

Dib sighed again. "Yeah... Anyway, Dr. Don has volunteered his services since I'm on a rather tight schedule and he happens to be more than capable of hashing out a solution for your little problem. I mean, the man's not only an expert on psychic phenomena but also a brilliant—if slightly amoral— bioengineer and geneticist, so I'd hope he'd at least be able to come up with a temporary fix."

"Genetics? What does that have to do with all this poltergeist crap?"

"A lot, actually," murmured Dib as they hurried down another alley. "But that's not the only reason I'm taking you to see him. See, there's also few little modifications we need to your body make before I hand you over to Rankle…"

"Modifications…?" Todd looked warily at the paranormalist, who led him into a seedy looking basement massage parlor. "What the hell are you…Oh. My. God." Stopping dead in his tracks, Todd stared at the pair of extremely attractive identical twins dressed in schoolgirl outfits at the front desk. He sincerely hoped that they were just done up in very convincing and very, very realistic cat-girl cosplay.

"DIB-SAMA!" mewled both as they happily leapt in the paranormalist's arms.

"Hi girls!" Grinning, Dib turned to the stunned boy. "Todd, this Fook Mi and she Fook Yu."

"But…but what about that Donkey Kong guy?" he stammered as one of the cat-girls slipped over to him, sniffing and cuddling against his body rather suggestively. "…do we really have time for this?"

"Oh don't worry!" Dib hummed, walking over to what looked like some kind of funky vending machine that apparently sold 'Used Schoolgirl Panties' and slipped a card into it. "The girls are harmless… Well, unless you're allergic to cat hair…" With a series of jabs at the keypad and a quick retina scan, the vending machine slide aside to reveal a tiny elevator into which Dib stepped. "Well, are you coming along or not?"

"Um…right." Extracting himself from the cat-girls, Todd hurriedly crammed in beside the paranormalist. Dib grinned broadly at him, stealthily copping a feel on Todd's backside as the door snapped shut.

"Comfortable? Good!" Without waiting for a reply, he slammed a button and the elevator rocked downwards at such a speed that Todd's screams of terror had barely left his mouth before they came to an abrupt stop.

"Fun ride, huh?" Dib smirked at the other boy as they squirmed out of the elevator. Giving him a glare, Todd followed as the paranormalist went down a cyberpunk hallway. Masked assistants in pristine white or green surgical uniforms dashed past them, disappearing into doorways with trays of strange instruments. Todd did his best not to think too hard about the odd sounds seemed to get swallowed up by the walls while Dib lead him further into the bowels of the mysterious Dr. Kong's laboratory. Finally, they came to a rather understated office door.

The door creaked open of it's own accord, revealing what Todd thought was a woman sitting at a rather spartan desk. At a gesture from Dib, he cautiously walked inside.

"Hello, Mister Casil," chimed the woman. "Please, sit down."

"Hello." He lowered himself into one of the overtly functional chairs, darting nervous glances around the room. His gaze finally settled on the large pile of paperwork. "What's all that?"

"Just some release forms for legal reasons." She pushed the pile toward him. "Now, if you'll simply fill in the relevant information in the spaces highlighted and sign them, we can get you prepped for initial treatment."

Glancing over at Dib, who was angrily texting on his publicity agent, he nervously took offered stack of paper and started scribbling in the relevant places. It was around Form #337B-00t4 that Todd noticed something strange.

"What's this bit about 'possible random mutation'?"

Dr. Kong laughed it off. "It's just a little bit of legalese. Nothing to worry about!"

"Um...then what about this thingy talking about 'Chaos Gods'? I mean, it's asking me to pick between Khrone, Slannesh, Nurgle, Tzeentch, or just Chaos"

"Oh, it's just one of those silly little psych things. Just pick the one you'd like to serve...eh, learn more about!"

"Riiiiiiiiiight..." Frowning, Todd looked over the list again and tick a check in the box beside 'Chaos'. It wasn't like these 'little psych things' mattered, after all.

Once he finished, Dr. Kong snatched the papers away and skimmed them over.

"Good, good... Everything seems to be in order. Now, if you'll just take off your clothes and step onto the circle on the floor." She pointed to the mark.

"What?"

"Just do as the- *ahem*-_good_ doctor says, Todd." Dib muttered, putting away his cell phone. "It'll be less painful that way. Besides, it isn't the first time today you've gone about buck naked in front of total strangers."

Reluctantly Todd went over to the circle and stripped, handing his clothes over to a very attractive assistant who seemed to just materialize out of thin air. He froze up when he felt the circle start to sink into the floor, lowering him into a long coffin-like tube. With a wary interest, he watched as Dr. Kong and Dib walked into what Todd could only find himself thinking of as a really classy mad scientist's lab, the kind one would expect a Bond villain to come waltzing into. They were talking about something with a kind of cold detachment and kept glancing over at his tank...

'Well,' grumbled an eerie, uncomfortable voice. 'You do realize they're talking about you, right? Don't you know that you're just the latest guinea pig for them to experiment on?'

Todd tried ignoring it, rationalizing it away as just all the stress he'd gone through.

'Of course it just the stress. Just like it was just stress that drove a pen through that asshole's face or that almost empty a pistol into dear Dr. Mabuse over there...'It was hissing now, rasping through his brains like a nails on a chalkboard. 'Face it, Todd. You're becoming a monster. Might as well enjoy the benefits that come with all those spooky new powers you've been given.'

'I don't have any kind of powers... This, this is all just an awful mistake!'

There was that _laugh_. 'Don't bullshit me, little boy. I know what you're capable of. The question is, do _you_?"

'No, because I'm just a normal guy! Not a monster. I'm just... just..."

'Sick. That's what you were going to say, wasn't it? You're just sick. And they're only trying to make you better. I mean that's what doctors, right? They're suppose to cure the sick and fix _broken_ things.'

'I'm not...I'm not broken.' Todd growled, unaware that the tube was filling up with a warm pink solution. 'And you-whatever the hell you are- you aren't real! This is all in my head. Just another symptom of...'

'Of the Sickness.' The voice said it in such a way that Todd could almost feel the word ooze and crawl deep down in his mind. 'It's trying to slip its leash again, as if it ever had its own will. The Sickness thinks that you'll let it go free. How...annoying.'

'I know I shouldn't ask, since you're just some kind of voice in my head and all, but what is this sickness thing? And how do I get rid of it?'

'Oh, don't worry about that right now. I'll take care of it later.'

The tube was completely filled now, but Todd still hadn't noticed it. Nor did he really noticed all the tubes and leads that snaked out and latched onto to his body.

'Eh, excuse me Mister Voice-in-my-head, but I think you owe me at least some explanation. Even if you are just a figment of my imagination, I'm pretty sick of all this cryptic bullshit.'

There was only the faint buzz of machinery.

'Hello? Are...are you still there?' He waited for an answer while a funny kind of drowsiness crept over him. Todd silently cursed at himself for believing that he'd get a reply. This had to be some kind of weird dream, he rationalized. He must've dozed off during lunch or something and started dreaming about monsters coming out of toilets and talking doughboys and...and...

Todd sleepily looked up and saw the pink-tinted blur that he was pretty sure was Dr. Kong. Funny thing was, she had a name that _almost_ sounded like the lady doctor that was doing those sleep studies at the crazy house... But she was blonde, right? He closed his eyes for a moment then took another look at the doctor, noting how pale her hair was. And he could almost swear he was back in the padded room, all comfy cozy (as the orderlies would say) in the restraints.

Actually, now that Todd realized it, he really was sitting in the corner of that padded cell and bundled up in a straitjacket. There was that stain that looked kind of like Mel Brooks, the flaking paint on the bars, and even that same stale urine odor lingering. Which had always bugged Todd whenever the orderlies would blame him for it, because he'd figured out how to use the bathroom even with this damn straitjacket on. He'd even taught himself how to wipe and cut on the faucet using just his feet.

Feeling groggy, he lurched to his feet and staggered over to the door. The hallway was totally dark, which was weird because Todd could clearly see daylight coming through the window. Odd...he didn't remember the window being up so high before... Maybe he just never really noticed it before. God, he'd been cooped up in this cell for so long it was starting to drive him crazy. Well, crazier than before. And the dreams he'd been having lately. Maybe he ought to tell that nice doctor about them. He was sure she'd leave to hear about them. Even the latest one where he got kidnapped by some superhero scientist...

_To be continued..._


End file.
